Touch Me
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: "My boyfriend would kill me if he were here right now." Lexie Grey schedules an appointment with a plastic surgeon. Contains Mark/Lexie, Lexie/Jackson. Rated M, containing graphic sexual scenes, almost all of which include cheating. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Touch Me

Author: fais2688/theeyedoesnotSEE

Rating: M

Universe: AU, Mark has a practice in New York

Summary: Lexie Grey schedules an appointment with a plastic surgeon. "My boyfriend would kill me if he were here now."

Author's Note: I know, I'm supposed to be working on the next chapter of _Out of My Hands… _But when I woke up this morning, this whole thing just popped into my head. I promise to return to my other AU asap!

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Dr. Mark Sloan sighed, running a hand through his hair as he walked out of the OR. He'd only just completed his second surgery of the day and already he was tired. He looked to his watch. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet. What was happening to him?

He took the file the receptionist handed to him, flipping through it quickly as she informed him what room the patient was in and what she was waiting for. _Breast augmentation. _He sighed. Well, at least this next half-hour would be routine. No scalpels, no anesthesia, just exchanging words with yet another insecure New Yorker. The city was filled with women—and men, too, for that matter—that felt just the same. No one was ever pleased with the way they looked.

_He _had been pleased with that trend, of course… At first. But now, it was clear things had begun to bore him. Things had become too routine. He had a handful of surgeries in the mornings, maybe seeing a patient or two just to talk like this one, and then break for lunch and return in the afternoon to do it all over again. But at least it was his own practice. At least he'd made a name for himself. _As a boobs-and-butt guy. Great. Just what I wanted when I went to medical school._

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hand again and rubbing the side of his face tiredly. He tucked the patient's file under his arm as he reached for the door.

"My girlfriend wants breast implants," the man within announced, barely waiting for Mark to enter the room.

"Jackson," the woman he presumed to be his patient, Alexandra Grey, hissed unhappily.

"Ouch," he muttered after she'd poked him hard in the ribs, "What?" He demanded, rubbing his side. "It _is_ what you want."

"I could've said it myself."

"Well, then why didn't you—"

"Excuse me," Mark interrupted. "But I think I need to speak to Alexandra alone."

"It's Lexie," the couple corrected automatically.

"Right," Mark replied. He looked to the man. "Your name?"

"Jackson Avery."

"Jackson, great. Mark Sloan." He held out his hand and the man shook it uneasily. "It was nice to meet you, but it's time for you leave now." He stared at the man, who seemed not to be able to comprehend what he was saying. "I have to talk to your girlfriend _alone_," he stressed.

Jackson Avery looked like he was about to protest, but soon enough, he turned away. He exchanged a couple words and a quick kiss with his girlfriend as Mark sat down in one of those surprisingly uncomfortable swivel chairs, and then he was gone. Mark rolled the chair towards where his patient sat on the exam table, studying her file.

"You're here to discuss breast augmentation?" He asked, finally lifting his head to his patient.

"Yes," she answered.

He studied her for a moment—taking a few extra seconds to look over her chest—and immediately deemed that the surgery wasn't necessary. Her breasts weren't huge—they wouldn't stop a guy in his tracks—but there was nothing wrong with them that he could see. In fact, they framed her body nicely. He liked the way her hair tumbled down just to the crest of them; it worked to accentuate what she already had.

"And you're sure you want to go through with it?" He asked.

His patient—Lexie, he remembered being corrected, not Alexandra—laughed, tossing her hair to the side. "A plastic surgeon's trying to talk me out of a procedure? Who would've thought..."

Mark ignored that. "Your boyfriend seems a little domineering," he replied, ignoring the outrage that passed over her features at his blunt assessment. "I'm here to make sure you're not going into this just because you want to please him."

The brunette jutted her chin out defiantly. "Who says I'm doing it for him? How do you know I'm not tired of having the rack of a twelve-year-old?"

Mark couldn't help but smile, though he ducked his head so she wouldn't see. "You don't have a twelve-year-old's rack," he replied seriously when he could.

"How do you know?" She muttered unhappily. "You haven't seen me naked."

"Want to change that?"

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened so much that they looked two sizes too big for her face. "What the hell—"

"For the purposes of your surgical request," he replied, smiling faintly at her surprise, "I really do need to take a look at your chest without your clothes on. Just to see what we're dealing with here."

Her shock faded, and she set aside her purse. "It's not much," she murmured apologetically, reaching for her purple sweater.

Mark tried not to watch the way she stripped it off, followed quickly by her camisole, and the almost self-conscious way she shrugged out of her bra. He felt suddenly very jealous of that guy Jackson, who was no doubt standing only a few hundred yards away in the waiting room while Mark oogled his girlfriend's breasts... For medical purposes, of course. He tried not to frown. He got to look, but _he_ got to have her.

Mark tried not to think of her in such concrete terms when he studied her breasts. He knew if he thought of her, really thought of her, he'd only end up being put in a miserably uncomfortable and turned-on position. Sometimes he hated his job. Here was this gorgeous woman sitting in front of him, baring her breasts to him… And he got to call it work. Most would call him lucky, but he found it to be incredibly frustrating. Especially when his patients happened to look like her.

"Aren't you… supposed to feel them?" Lexie wondered, sounding a bit confused.

Mark lifted his head, unable to smirk a bit at her request. "Not unless I deem it completely necessary. It might be silly of me, but I get the idea most women don't like to be felt up by their doctor."

Lexie snorted softly. "Yeah, maybe _some_ doctors, but definitely not you." Her face flushed bright red a second after she finished speaking, as if she'd only just realized what she said. He held up a hand when she tried to stutter out an apology.

"Don't worry about it." He grinned. "I get that all time. Women always want my hands on their breasts."

Lexie—thank God—somehow managed to keep her mouth shut this time, and refrained from replying that she wouldn't mind it if he deemed it 'completely necessary' for him to fondle her tits. She would welcome his touch, in fact. She stared at him as he continued studying her breasts, and suddenly she just _needed _him to feel them. She needed him to know. She couldn't just sit here with him staring at her.

"Just—touch them!" She ordered, grabbing his hands and putting them on her chest. Too shocked by her sudden outburst to pull back, Dr. Mark Sloan found himself alone in a room with a half-naked patient who demanded he put his hands on her tits. And he had complied.

But the mood was obviously far from amorous; he could see pain waiting beneath the surface of her self-conscious expression. He half-expected her breasts to shrink in his hands, to grow small and tiny because of her discomfort with them, but the opposite happened. When she took a deep breath, her small breasts nearly filled his large hands.

"They're tiny," she muttered unhappily. "You can touch them—I mean, really touch them, hold them—and see." She grabbed one of his hands in hers and manipulated it to palm her breast and then squeeze it lightly. "Too small," she murmured, apparently unaware that she was giving her doctor a huge hard-on.

Telling himself he was following her instructions, he quietly mimicked the motions she'd had him carry out on one breast to the other. He took it upon himself to drag his fingers slowly over her nipples. He told himself it was for medical purposes, and that he should know the exact degree of response they elicit when touched so he could make sure they remained the same after the procedure.

She chuckled quietly when she felt her nipples harden immediately. "That's the only good thing about them," she confided with a smile. "Responsive as hell."

Mark couldn't stop staring at her. He struggled to swallow and look away, but her gaze held him.

"My boyfriend would kill me if he were here right now," she said softly.

Though he knew it was his cue to do so, Mark didn't remove his hands from her breasts. Instead, he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples again, just to feel how tight they were. He tried not to think of how long it had been since the last time he'd had sex.

"Good thing he isn't here now, then," he murmured. She stared down at him with something unreadable hidden in her dark eyes. He waited for her to speak, trying to puzzle out which polite—or not-so-polite—way she would order his hands off of her body. But she didn't say that at all.

She reached down and covered his hand with hers, guiding his thumb over her nipple once again. "They've never gotten that hard that fast before." Her voice was quiet, almost observational. Her matter-of-fact tone led him to wonder if she actually felt his touch at all. He was hard as hell, but for all he knew, she was dry as a bone.

"You said they were responsive."

"They are." She paused, finding his blue eyes with her dark ones. "When I'm with the right man."

"I get the feeling you make a habit of picking wrong men, then," he noted, "especially if you feel you've got to augment your breasts to please them."

"I told you it isn't for him."

"Then who's it for?" He wondered, still not removing his hands from her breasts. He'd decided the moment he touched them that he'd wait until she ordered him away before he let go. He let his fingers skim the undersides, and bit the inside of his lower lip to mask his shit-eating grin with a look of concentration. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this turned on by patient. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this turned on _at all, _and he was certainly no stranger to beautiful and alluring women.

"Al…right," Mark began, reluctantly removing her hands from his breasts just a few seconds later. He bit back an unhappy sigh as he did so—his hands already felt empty without her breasts to fill them—but he knew it was necessary. Though he would have loved to go on for hours just holding her tits like that, he knew that he couldn't keep it up without soon having to tear off the rest of her clothes and fuck her here and now like the promiscuous male lead in some daytime soap. "You can put your clothes back on." He turned away, busying himself with some paperwork as she dressed. He tried not to peek at her from the corner of his eyes, and he hoped she didn't noticed when he faltered. He took a breath before turning back to her once she was fully clothed. "You want to tell me what this is really about?" He asked.

"I _told_ you—"

"You do not have the rack of a twelve-year-old," he informed her. "Actually," he continued matter-of-factly, "your breasts are perfectly suited to the size of your body." He paused. "That's usually how breasts work." He stifled a smile when she rolled her eyes. "Now," he began, "when women come to me looking for breast implants, the first question I ask is, Who are you doing this for?" He looked at her pointedly until she realized she was supposed to answer.

"I'm not—" She started to reply.

He cut of her off unceremoniously, "Interestingly enough, I didn't have to bother asking with you, since the answer was the one to demand the augmentation in the first place."

"He didn't demand anything," Lexie muttered. "He's just a straight-forward guy." But she looked down, and Mark could tell that though maybe her boyfriend hadn't used words, the intent was clear.

"You want to tell me why you're so ready to please him?"

Lexie sighed. It took her a minute, but eventually she replied. "You've seen him," she muttered. "Jackson looks…" She sighed, looking into his eyes dejectedly. "I'm just trying to keep up, is all. To match what he has."

"And breast implants is the way to go about doing that?"

She didn't reply.

"Have you talked to him about this, about how you don't feel like you're measuring up?"

She shook her head. "He wouldn't understand."

_No shit he wouldn't understand, _Mark thought to himself, _but that's because it's not true._ "Maybe you'll be surprised," he replied.

Her dark eyes flickered to his. "I'm sorry, are you a psychiatrist or a plastic surgeon?"

Mark smiled thinly. "Sometimes both." He paused. "I've seen a lot of women come in for breast implants... And more often than not, I've seen them return after the procedure because they're unhappy with what they got. Their boyfriend or husband or girlfriend likes them fine enough, but now they feel like a fake. A fraud. And big boobs aren't fixing the other problems in their relationship." He looked her in the eye. "Somehow, I don't have a hard time believing you'll be back once we send you on your way."

"If he's happy, I'm happy."

"Exactly," Mark replied, feeling himself get unnecessarily testy now. "But haven't you ever thought about being happy for yourself? Haven't you ever thought of doing something _just_ for you?"

Lexie laughed quietly, looking down. "What are you, a motivational speaker on your days off?"

"I'm a surgeon," he replied. "So I don't get any days off. But like I said, being a psychiatrist is sometimes needed in this field. Being a motivational speaker is _definitely _needed, but more so for the other half of what people _always_ assume is purely a cosmetic line of work."

She stared at him for a moment, thinking of what else a plastic surgeon might specialize in besides implants and nose jobs. "So what," she wondered, "you tell people that everything will be okay once you downsize their scars?"

"No," he replied patiently, "I tell people everything will be okay even when two-thirds of their body's covered in third-degree burns. I tell people everything will be okay even when they can't hear me because they're delirious with pain and screaming their head off." Her face had grown markedly pale—if from embarrassment or frightened surprise, he couldn't be sure—so he tried to smile when he told her, "Breast and butt implants aren't all I do."

She smiled faintly. "That's… good to know. If I ever get covered in third-degree burns."

Mark's lips twitched before he glanced at his watch. He realized it was probably time to wrap this up, so he got to his feet. He carefully positioned her file in front of her waist to hide his still-simmering erection. Internally, he seethed. What the hell was he going to do about that? He had surgery in forty-five minutes! There was no way he could walk through the halls with a file clutched against his waist—it would take all of two second's for the practice's staff to realize just what was going on. He was suddenly very angry with this Lexie woman, not only for looking like she did, but for going out of her way to do nothing but tease him.

The rational part of him knew it wasn't her fault. He knew it was unintentional. She saw herself as below average physically, and she longed for someone to tell her different. She was desperate for attention, something that translated very easily into blatantly sexual terms. He bit back a sigh. If only she didn't have a boyfriend. If she'd come here alone, he wouldn't have hesitated on hitting on her. It would have been out of line and over the top, but he'd found in his experience that women liked that. Everyone craved a bit of danger, a bit of intrigue, and women always loved to be at the center of it all.

He cleared his throat and marshaled his thoughts. "You'll probably want to make an appointment with the receptionist," he informed her, watching as she gathered her purse and slipped off the table. She was just a few inches shorter than him, he noticed. "We'll have to have a series of sessions before the actual surgery—if you do decide to go through with it, that is. I—"

"_If_ I decide to go through with it?" She turned just as they were reaching the door. "What are you talking about?"

He gave her a quick smile. "Lexie, I've been a plastic surgeon for almost a decade. Trust me when I say that I know my patients—and many who come in for their first session don't always come back."

"I'll be back," she replied hotly.

He held up his hands with a smile. "You have nothing to prove to me, Lexie. This is about _you, _not me…" He let his hands fall while he looked her in the eye. "And this is _definitely _not about your boyfriend."

"Well, seeing as he'll be the one touching them, I think this is—" she mocked his emphasis "—_definitely _about him too."

Mark shrugged. "Hey, I touched them too," he smirked. He wondered in the back of his head when that would come back to bite him in the ass. He assumed revenge would come in the form of an incensed Jackson Avery, though that thought in itself was a bit comical. "I see no reason for you need to upgrade."

"Then you didn't touch them properly," she replied, clearly annoyed now. "If you had, you would've realized that they don't fit."

Mark sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "They fit perfectly well, Lexie."

She threw her hands up angrily, turning away. "I am sick of men lying to me," she growled, reaching for the door.

Mark Sloan didn't know why he did what he did next. He knew it was wrong. On so many levels, it was wrong. He was her doctor, her caregiver, the one she was trusting with her well-being. And it wasn't as if she was single—she had a boyfriend, waiting just a couple hundred yards away, for Christ's sake. He knew it went against every rule in the book—written and unwritten. It was immoral, unethical, unsavory. It would get him into trouble, and deep trouble at that.

But he did it anyway.

He grabbed her arm, whirled her around, and pressed his lips so hard against hers that her back hit the door with an audible _thud._ Her purse dropped to the floor a moment later, with a matching _thud_, and was quickly accompanied by his chart, which flew open on impact and scattered papers all over the floor. Neither pretended to care about the mess, or even stopped to think about what they were doing. Her arms reached up to wind around his neck while his hefted her up against the door without a second thought. Their mouths never parted.

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Author's Note: So… Yeah. This was the first thing that popped into my mind when I woke up this morning. I think I have a problem. Anyway—I would love to hear what you guys thought of this. Please leave me a review below!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Author's Note: Wow, thank you all for your reviews! You guys surprised me with such a quick and excited response! I apologize profusely for the cliffhanger in the last chapter… But hopefully this one will make up for it :)

Rating: M, for sexual situations

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Lexie Grey tried to remember if she'd ever been fucked like this before.

She could barely breathe, let alone think, and her memory was shot to hell as it made haste to nail down these moments here for later perusal.

He was pumping into her as if his life depended on it, and all she could do was hang on desperately—like her life was in danger, too. And it was. She knew Dr. Sloan wouldn't say anything to Jackson, but that didn't mean the truth wouldn't come out. No doubt she'd end up being the one to babble about it when she got nervous, or spill the beans after she'd had a couple beers. She closed her eyes. He'd leave her in a second, she knew. It didn't matter that she'd do the same if the situation were reversed, or that she'd punch him the face, or that she'd enjoy throwing his things out the window—none of that mattered, because the situation _wasn't _reversed. And they'd been together for _years_. How do you just start up something casual after ending a serious relationship for that long of a time? How do you even _do_ that?

More to the point, how did Lexie Grey find herself being fucked against a door by her plastic surgeon, with her boyfriend of nearly three years waiting not more than a hundred yards away?

_I came here for breast implants, not a healthy serving of his cock in my pussy._ She started to sigh, but it turned into a moan as it exited her mouth. She could feel him kiss her harder in response, felt his cock plunge deeper. Her moans got louder, and as he attempted to silence them with his mouth, she tried to remember what had happened to get her to this point.

Today had not been a good day. This week had not been a good week.

Jackson had been working non-stop, literally _non-stop, _for months now and it had just become crystal clear the effect it was having on her. It wasn't that they were having sex, that wasn't it. Because they _were _having sex… Kind of. It just wasn't great sex, it wasn't real sex. It wasn't sex like this, sex where she literally could not keep her voice down, could not keep her hands to herself, sex where she felt like she'd already orgasmed by the time he'd unbuttoned her pants.

She knew it was wrong. She knew it wasn't right or okay or in any way acceptable, by anyone's rules or standards… But her vagina just wasn't having that argument. Her vagina didn't care. Her vagina did what it wanted, took what it wanted, and—apparently—so did his cock. She grinned, breathless, remembering how hard he'd been when she'd pushed down his scrubs and taken him in her hands. It was only then, watching his eyes fall shut as she fisted him, that she realized she must've been driving him mad for the past twenty minutes, talking about her breasts and making him touch them.

_Serves him right, _she remembered thinking to herself. _Walking around looking like that and driving every woman within sight mad with want._

She groaned aloud now—in annoyance and not arousal—when she couldn't bend her legs the way she wanted. These damn jeans were too confining and she hated herself for bothering to put on such tight ones in the first place. She ripped her mouth from his with some difficulty.

"I need… to take off my pants," she told him, her chest heaving and her lungs breathless.

He stared at her, obviously confused as to why she'd called a time-out. Maybe he had been expecting her to comment on the existence of her boyfriend at some point, and then go running off. But she couldn't do that—not now, not after she'd gotten so much from him. Who knew when she and Jackson could have a free moment alone to fuck like this? Such times certainly hadn't made themselves available in recent weeks.

"Do you want me to do it for you?"

She thought about laughing off his suggestion—but then realized she would probably need the help. "They're really tight," she explained by way of affirmation.

She saw a smirk spread over his face when she said that, but neither commented. She bit her lip so she wouldn't smile at his silent praise. She could almost hear him saying, _So are you._ Once he'd helped her pull of her jeans, she kicked off her panties onto the floor and all but jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist.

A shit-eating grin spread over his face, and he raised his eyebrows at her mockingly. "Eager, huh?" He smirked, holding her aloft with one hand and twisting the exam room's lock in place with the other.

She grinned back, and reached down to close her hands around his rock-hard penis and guide it towards her. "Don't try to play it off like you aren't, either," she whispered, before slamming her lips against his. His hips met hers so powerfully, she was half-sure her bones rattled beneath her skin. She _was _sure that she'd sport bruises tomorrow. She didn't bother wasting time thinking about how she'd explain that to Jackson. She doubted he would notice, anyway—it wasn't like he was ever around these days, least of all for sex.

She hated to think about it—about the fact that she was driven into this stranger's arms because her boyfriend wasn't putting out—but that was the truth of the matter. What's worse was, she couldn't even blame him. He was working his ass off. He was trying to make a name for himself in a career that chewed up and spat out most of its applicants. He was trying to provide for her.

…And here she was fucking the closest available cock because her boyfriend was at work more than he was at home. Fantastic. What a model girlfriend _she _was. Jesus Christ.

"You close?" He whispered in her ear, drawing her attention back to what was happening here and now, back to his thick cock thrusting into her with almost bruising but ever-so-delicious force.

She nodded, not trusting herself to open her mouth lest a scream came out instead of a hushed 'yes.'

His thrusts started coming quicker now, and more erratic due to his constant need to be inside her. She had to bite down on her lower lip hard so she wouldn't moan aloud. He was staring at her—looking her right in the eyes—as he pumped inside her. She didn't know if it was that wild, hungry yet determined look in his eyes that finally made her come, or just a particularly sharp and deep thrust of his cock.

Needles to say it didn't matter—she was off, and he was too, if she could judge by the look on his face. She grinned, panting, as he pressed her up against the door so he wouldn't drop her in that hazy barely-real phase of life that came immediately after cumming. After she'd managed to catch her breath, she slowly extracted her legs from around his waist. She felt weirdly weightless when he finally set her on the ground, and she was pleased she actually had to put back on her pants before leaving—that way she could attempt to stretch her legs without looking like a _complete_ idiot.

He didn't say a word as she dressed, just disposed of the condom in silence and hiked his scrubs back up.

"Is there a mirror?" She wondered, looking around. "My hair…"

He smirked, but pointed to an area in the corner, complete with a sink—and yes—a mirror. Lexie was glad she'd thought to check—not only was her hair in disarray, but telling color had risen to her cheeks. She splashed cold water on her face until it faded, dried herself off, and then combed through her hair with her fingers. She stared at herself in the mirror. Not too bad.

She chewed on her lip, trying not to think about the fact that her boyfriend probably wouldn't have noticed the freshly fucked look on her face even if she'd let him see it. It would've cause stares from the other people in the waiting room, though, and that would've been enough.

"Well, um…" She made a couple last-minute alternations before turning around to face him. He was loitering in the corner of the room, a smirk on his face. "Thank you," she told him, at a loss for what to say. She put her hand to her forehead a moment later. "I'm sorry," she muttered, annoyed and embarrassed. "That was a stupid thing to say."

"No, it wasn't," he replied. "Not at all." She lowered her hand to find him grinning. "You're very welcome, and… thank you, too."

She couldn't help but smile, walking to the door and then stopping right before it to bend down to get her purse. She did so with exaggerated slowness, hoping his eyes would be drawn to her ass—her best feature as far as she and anyone she'd ever dated was concerned. She smiled when she heard him clear his throat just as she was straightening up, and she glanced instinctively to his waist. She wondered briefly if he'd have a hard-on for the rest of the day because of her, and the thought made her smile.

Without a word, she headed out into the hallway and back to her boyfriend, feeling oddly more at ease than she had in months.

.

"You okay?" Jackson wondered when he saw her come back into the waiting room after she'd checked out. His hand reached out to cup her elbow as he studied her face. "You look worried. What happened? What'd he tell you?"

Lexie forced a smile. "Nothing," she replied. "He…" She cleared her throat, following him to the exit and trying to think of a quick lie. Any lie, it didn't matter, just something for her to say and him to hear. "He said I'm supposed to come back next week, and we can start really… uh, looking into things."

"That's good," Jackson noted, leading the way down the street to the nearest subway station. She could tell he was trying to sound upbeat, happy for her—or whatever he thought would be the most appropriate tone of voice, given the situation—but she already knew he was distracted. He was one of those people that hated his days off—he was forever worrying about what was going on at work without him, forever worrying that he was missing something important or forgetting something he should've done before he left.

She watched him as they rode in silence underneath the ground, listening to the squeal of the train on its tracks as they hurtled downtown and silent but continuous half-tapping of his foot. She didn't know why she'd let him come along today. She barely knew why she went in the first place, but that wasn't the point. She sighed softly, staring at him, and wondered if she would've fucked Dr. Sloan if Jackson hadn't been there. It wasn't like he heard or saw, but part of her was convinced he had to _know_… But of course he didn't. How would he know? Maybe she just wished he would notice. Maybe if they got into a fight, she'd have him all to herself for an hour or two. That would be more than she'd gotten in past weeks, and who cared if he would be shouting and she'd be apologizing? At least they'd be _talking _about something, something that mattered, instead of the silent way they'd been communicating about nothing recently.

Lexie shook her head quickly, deeming that course of action as unacceptable. She could never do that. And it wasn't like it had meant anything, when her plastic surgeon had fucked her against that door. It obviously meant _their _relationship was complicated now—her and Dr. Sloan's—but who said she ever had to see _him_ again? He was right. It wasn't like she'd ever go through with jacking up her chest for her boyfriend's amusement. She was half-sure he wouldn't even notice anyway, and maybe not even care if he did. So she'd have big boobs—and in _what_ way would that make his workday any less demanding?

She glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking about. Work, no doubt, but what part of work? He was checking his phone every few seconds—having apparently forgotten that he wouldn't get reception here—so Lexie knew it must be important. She sighed quietly. She honestly had no idea what he was thinking about, and that saddened her. They used to talk about these things. She used to always know what sort of case he was working on, or which junior or senior partner was being a real asshole that day. He used to talk her ear off until she—a couple times—literally fell asleep listening. And then he'd carry her to bed and she'd tug on his loosened tie, mumbling sleepily for him to keep going, because she was still listening, baby, she promised. He always chuckled and she'd fall back to sleep in about two seconds, listening to him laugh as she did so. She missed hearing him laugh. When was the last time he'd laughed?

When was the last time _she'd _laughed, for that matter?

Lexie Grey refused to believe that the first person to make her laugh in months had been Dr. Mark Sloan, just before she'd fucked him during a routine exam like some kind of sex-starved teenager.

She bit back a groan. Why was today turning out like it had? It was almost noon, and instead of spending her boyfriend's first day off in weeks tangled together in bed with him, she'd woken alone—and later found him pouring over case files on the kitchen table with a pot of coffee already made and half-drunk… and the day had just gone downhill from there. She didn't know why he insisted on coming today—it couldn't just be because they'd agreed long ago to spend every day off they had together _together, _could it? She sighed. Visiting a doctor's office with him—everything else that had happened there aside—wasn't exactly her definition of "together." She preferred the naked-in-bed-writhing-and-moaning variety.

She glanced at him, chewing her lip and wondering if it was too late. It was still eleven-something; that constituted a morning, didn't it? And who cared if it was the afternoon—he had the whole day off, for Christ's sake, this was amazing! Days like this happened once in a blue moon, _if _that. She had to take advantage, she decided, as they and a few other passengers got to their feet and shuffled to the exit. She was glad their apartment was nearby—but not too close—because she needed a few minutes to think about this. She had chickened out before this morning, and that was stupid. So he had been working? Who cares? He worked every single day of the week; he can take his day off _off_. As they rounded the corner to their building, kicking bits of shattered glass out of the way with every step, she decided she just wouldn't let him get that far. Seducing him between the door and the kitchen table would be hard—seeing as they were just a few feet apart—but not impossible. She thought about how she would do it, and glanced down to her outfit. It wasn't particularly appealing. Jeans, sweater, camisole, bright red bra… Well, that might help her, if she hadn't had the other two layers to get off first.

It was only when they were walking up the stairs to their apartment did Lexie finally realize that the physical discomfort she'd been feeling for the last fifteen minutes wasn't because he'd fucked her so hard… It was because she wasn't wearing any panties. The realization was like a godsend, an answer to her prayers, and if she never saw Dr. Sloan again, she could at least thank him now for being a complete asshole and snatching her underwear like some kind of over-zealous stalker. Part of her mourned—those panties were her favorite, and they matched this bra perfectly—but the other part of her was cheering. It was the perfect way to seduce Jackson before he got lost in work again.

She smiled, threading her fingers through her boyfriend's hand when they reached their landing. He glanced at her, curious, but she just squeezed his hand and waited for him to unlock the door. He had the entire day off to spend with her and _she_ just happened to not be wearing panties anymore—who cared if she'd just fucked her plastic surgeon less than an hour ago like some kind of porn-movie slut? It didn't mean that she was too stupid to see the opportunity to try to fix some things between her and Jackson and take advantage when it was presented to her.

.

It was six o'clock, and Mark Sloan was leaving work and heading outside into a crisp autumn night when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"A woman named Lexie Grey called while you were in surgery," the receptionist informed him as he walked by. "She wanted to make an appointment for next week, to 'see where we stand,' whatever that means, but I told her you're already booked for the next—"

Mark smiled, and tried not to make it look too devilish. He turned around, and walked the few paces to the receptionist's desk. "I think we can make some room," he interrupted. "I can meet with her just before closing."

The receptionist nodded methodically, pulling up the practice's calendar on her computer. "Next Friday would work, if you want to work late that day. Mary can stay a little late to check her in."

_I can't wait until Friday. _"What about Wednesday?"

The receptionist frowned. "There's no open slots Wednesday…unless you want to give up your lunch hour, that is…"

Mark attempted to suppress a grin, happy that the receptionist was studying her calendar and not his face. "I'll definitely give up my lunch hour for Ms. Grey."

"I'll mark it down. See you tomorrow, Dr. Sloan."

Mark smiled, said his goodbyes, and then walked away. He whistled as he made his way to the curb, heading to his car that was waiting just in front of the practice's entrance. His driver opened the door for him without a word, and Mark thanked the man happily. As he was settling into his seat, Mark reached into his pocket and fingered the panties he'd taken from Lexie Grey earlier this morning. He grinned as the car pulled away and merged into traffic, heading up the street. He could feel the dried wetness on the silky material, and he wished he'd tasted her when he'd had the chance. He had no doubt that she'd be nice and juicy, as sweet as she'd been tight.

A wide, smug smirk spread over his face when he realized just how eagerly he'd welcome eating lunch on Wednesday. He turned his head then, and gazed out the window as the car passed through street after street, filled with shops and overrun with New Yorkers. His fingers never left her panties for the rest of the ride home.

.

_Author's Note: So I don't really know how to tell you guys how excited I am for this story. Since I came up with the idea, I've been writing non-stop, and I'm just really, really addicted to this universe right now and very excited for some of the things the characters will be going through in later chapters. I sincerely hope you guys are excited too, and that you liked this chapter. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated!_

_I'm sorry in advance if I'm late replying to reviews—I'll be out of town today and tomorrow and I don't know if I'll have internet. If I don't, I look forward to replying to your guys' comments when I get back. :) Again, thank you all so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Author's Note: I'm so happy to hear that you guys liked their first encounter! There will be many more where that came from.

Rating: M, for graphic sexual content

Warning: I feel the need to inform some of you: Lexie and Jackson are not going to break up anytime soon. I know many of you are hoping that will happen, hoping she'll see what's "good for her" and start dating Mark instead, but that, I'm sorry to inform you hopefuls, isn't going to be happening. This story began because she was unfaithful, and while I'm not saying it will necessarily end with her being unfaithful, almost all of this story _will_ contain very graphic scenes of infidelity… as well as some scenes where she's just as faithful to her boyfriend as unfaithful to him. This isn't a story where you get to see one side and then don't get the other—you'll see her relationship with Mark, _and_ you'll see her relationship with Jackson too.

I know cheating can be a very, very touchy (and sometimes not at all appropriate or reasonable) topic for some people to read about. I get that. If you are uncomfortable reading about such a subject, or the way I write it, then it is more than fine for you to stop. I'll understand and won't be offended. For those of you who are interested in this story, though, and maybe enjoy stories like this—it's okay, you can admit it ;)—I am so very grateful for your continued interest and support. I hope you like this chapter.

Regardless of whether you're still reading or are deciding to stop after this note, thank you all so, so much for the reviews you've given me so far. Every single one brought a smile to my face.

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She only came on Wednesday to get her panties back. That's what she told herself. And to make sure she _left _with her panties, she purposely didn't wear any in the first place. In retrospect, Lexie Grey realized that she should have known from the second she left her apartment that this was a really, _really _stupid idea. There was no way that it could possibly end well.

.

Her leg was shaking as she waited in the reception area, and when her name was called, she couldn't help that flutter of nerves in her stomach. She was happy a nurse had arrived to escort her to the room, and found herself hoping the woman would stay after she dropped her off. She had control of herself, she knew that. Of course she had control of herself. She didn't need a babysitter to ensure that she'd keep her pants on. Yes, _she _had control… And _he _was the one who'd kissed her, anyway. It was all his fault, obviously. His fault, not hers. _He_ was the one that was out of control. _He_ was the one who couldn't help himself. _He_ was the one acting like a slut.

She knew if she'd been a man, she would've gotten hard the second he'd arrived. Her arousal would be plain to see, obvious and prominent and… She shifted her weight, already realizing how bad a decision it'd been for her not to wear panties. She could already feel herself start to get wet, and he hadn't even touched her. (She tried not to tack on the 'yet' after that thought.) He'd just entered the room, that was it.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She suddenly wondered if he was hard. She remembered how good he'd felt when he was hard, how strong and thick and powerful. She wanted him inside her again. It had been less than a week—only four days—and already she wanted him again.

"I'm here for my panties," she announced, just so she'd stop thinking about him.

A smirk flickered across his face as he looked at her. "You are, are you?" His voice was the quietest murmur, and she tried desperately not to let it turn her on.

"You stole them," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood in the middle of the room. He looked only lightly amused at her accusation; he didn't exhibit any of the fear or shame she'd he'd show at being so directly approached. She supposed she should have known that he was without shame, though. And he didn't look as if anything frightened him. "You took them, you freak, and I want them back."

He smiled, sauntering over to her. "You sure you aren't here for something else, Ms. Grey?" He leaned in close to her, just a bit too close to be considered appropriate. It made her want to kiss him.

Instead, she shoved him back, and smiled at the surprise on his face. He obviously wasn't accustomed to women turning him down, and certainly never ones that had spent a night—or a quick couple minutes against a door—with him. She felt powerful and proud for that moment—and she would have felt so much more, that was, if she hadn't been able to feel her own arousal trickle down her upper thighs. The way he turned her on diminished the effect pushing him away had had. She almost regretted the decision to refuse him, but she had to—she _had to_—stand by it now. She would feel good about it when she went back home, anyway.

"I'm here for my panties," she repeated. "Nothing else. Give them to me."

"How do you know I have them?"

"Because I wasn't wearing them when I walked home! You took them; give them back!"

He stared at her for a minute before muttering something under his breath. She was about to ask what he'd said, but by then, he was at the door and holding it open for her. Glancing from side to side, she nervously followed him out, wondering where they were going. After a few twists and turns down a set of practically identical hallways, she got her answer written on the door.

_Dr. Mark Sloan, M.D. F.A.C.S. Head Practitioner._

Lexie realized later that she probably shouldn't have followed him into that secluded office, with its frosted glass door and large leather couch. No, not _probably not—definitely_ not. By under _no _circumstances should she have followed him into his private office. But she wanted her panties back, and she wanted to make a show of the fact that what had happened between them was a one-time thing. It would not be happening again. He seemed like a stubborn little shit, and she knew the only way for him to grasp the idea that she was _taken _and _off-limits_ was to tell him, to his face, while she held the evidence of her previous lapse of judgment in her hands where he was unable to lord it over her.

There would be no loose ends when she left his office, of that she was certain. He would know where they stood, which was nowhere even neareach other, and she would have her panties back. She could go home and forget about the whole thing, push it to a back corner of her mind and never visit it again. She had a boyfriend. She had no need for a second cock, and Jackson's was more than enough.

_When he had time to use it._

She closed her eyes, forcing that thought away. She would not think about her boyfriend's lack of availability right now. She would not think about the fact that the last person who'd fucked her was standing right in front of her this very second, in a private and concealed back room. And she absolutely would _not_ think about the fact that she hadn't stopped imagining him fucking her on that brown leather couch in the corner from the moment she'd walked in.

"So you still sticking with that boyfriend of yours?"

Lexie's head snapped away from the couch to where he was standing behind his desk; he'd almost made her jump. "Yes," she replied immediately. She didn't like the way he smirked at her when he closed the drawer he'd opened, slipping something into the front pocket of his white lab coat, and came around to lean against the front of his desk as he stared at her. "What?" She snapped. "Spit it out."

He shrugged, but the smirk didn't leave his face. "I'm just implying that you could do better."

Lexie snorted. "What?" she laughed. "You mean _you_? Please."

He grinned, but shook his head. "No, not me. I don't fit into the 'boyfriend' role very well, anyway. I'm just saying you could do better than _him_."

Lexie rolled her eyes. "Sure. Whatever you say." She sighed, and then remembered why she was here in the first place. "My panties?" She held out her hand.

"Ah, yes…" He dipped one hand into the pocket of his scrubs. Lexie couldn't decide whether she was disgusted or turned on that he had kept them there. She wondered what it was that he'd taken from his desk, then, if it wasn't her underwear. When his hand surfaced again, her red lace panties were balled up in a wad of bright red color.

She smirked. "What, have you been using them as a stress ball?"

He smiled briefly, and stepped towards her. "Something like that."

When she reached out to take them, he snatched his hand just out of her reach. She glared at him, but didn't have the strength to sigh heavily. "I did not come here to play games, Dr. Sloan."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, Ms. Grey." He paused, and then offered the panties to her again. Lexie glared at them, unwilling to be made a fool again by being seen snatching for them and then missing. His eyes danced when she looked up to them. "Gimme a kiss?" He wondered, grinning at the disgusted look on her face. "Just for old times' sake?"

_No, _she almost said. _No way in hell._ But then she lifted her jaw, squared it at him… And _yes_, she thought, _I can do that_. She could kiss him, she could give him the best kiss of his life, and then she could pull back, walk away, and never see him again. _He _would be the one left wanting after that, not her. _He _would be the one left lost and desperate. _Not her. _She could do this.

She stepped forward, slowly, and watched as a smug smile curved up his lips slowly as he straightened up. He'd obviously been expecting her to deny him. "One kiss," she told him, and he nodded. She took a silent breath before she stepped forward to meet him. _One second, _she told herself as she looked up at him. _It doesn't have to be longer than one second. Then all I have to do is turn and walk away and all of this is done._

His lips met hers softly, and it surprised her. Their mouths joined for a moment—just _one second_—and then they parted, hovering only centimeters from each other. In the hundredth of a second it took for their lips to break and rejoin again, stronger and faster and harder, a million thoughts raced through Lexie's mind. She thought of Jackson, and wondered what he was doing right now. She thought of the practice's staff, how any of them could walk in this very moment and catch the both of them together. But more than all that, she thought again of that brown leather couch in the corner, and how much she wanted to be fucked against it. She slammed her body to his.

He groaned somewhere deep in his throat when her body rammed against his. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he'd dropped her panties to the floor, but it didn't matter. It was clear she wanted him more than she wanted them, and he was all too happy to oblige her. Her hands were already clutching his cheeks and shoulders, pulling him close as his lips trailed to her neck. One of his hands cupped her waist in return while the other—the one that had been holding her underwear—reached up to tangle roughly in her hair.

He let his hand on her waist do some exploring. He liked the black skirt she was wearing today. It looked good—_very good_—and hugged that luscious curve of her ass like it had been sewn specifically for her. He wondered if it had. His hand found the zipper on the side and quickly did away with it, exposing a couple more inches of her smooth skin to his touch. He opened his eyes as his hand slipped between her uppermost thigh and skirt, confused… He couldn't feel the waistband of her panties. His lips fell from her neck as he turned to look down at her waist. Where were her panties?

It hit him like a bolt of lightning.

Lexie moaned aloud when his hand that was tangled deep in her dark hair tugged on it—sharply but not roughly—to break her mouth from his. She was panting and he was now too.

"You're not wearing any underwear." He spoke so seriously, but his voice was so low and hot… And she was so breathless, so turned on, she couldn't even smile or have her moment to take credit that _she _was the reason for the all-consuming lust in his eyes.

"I came to get mine back," she replied between hurried breaths. "I thought this would be easiest, so I could put them right on when you gave them to me."

"Fuck," he swore. His hand travelled from the side of her waist to her lower back and butt. He felt around there, groping her, just to make sure she really wasn't wearing any panties. His eyes found hers as he squeezed the twin globes of her perfect ass. "Lexie, are you trying to kill me?"

She couldn't help but smile. "I'm just trying to get what's mine returned to me," she replied.

He grinned, "I think that can be arranged." He stepped forward, gently pushing her back and back… Before she knew it, she'd collapsed into that large leather sofa she'd spent so much of this afternoon admiring. Her body hummed in anticipation. She couldn't believe he was about to fuck her on it—had he read her mind when she'd walked in and known what she wanted? Was it that obvious?

"In fact," he murmured, following her to the couch and slowly lowering himself to her level, "I may have to give you a reward for making my job that much easier."

Lexie smiled, thinking he was about to untie his scrubs and pull out his cock… But instead, he sank to his knees before her, pulling her knees towards him so they framed either side of his head. He bent forward without a word, and put his mouth on her before Lexie could even draw a breath.

"_Jesus Christ," _she heard herself whisper, half in awe, half in unadulterated lust, as he began licking at the wetness that had formed—and continued to form—from the second she saw him. He held her gaze all the while, his blue eyes intense. When he lifted a hand up to part her sex for easier access, her legs sprung apart immediately to make room for him. She didn't care anymore how desperate it made her look. He already knew, and it wasn't like she had a reputation to save. Not with him.

He groaned so loud after he'd had his first taste of her, she thought the room would shake from the want in his voice. "So sweet," he whispered, lapping at her. He buried his face in between her thighs. "Jesus, I knew you'd taste good, but you're better than I ever imagined."

Lexie couldn't help herself from getting wetter at his words. No one had ever talked dirty to her before, and she knew this wasn't much, but still… Shivers went up her back. "You… imagined this?" Her chest was heaving as she stared down at him. Slowly, he lifted his face from her sex. When he licked his lips, it took all her willpower not to come apart.

"From the second you left my practice, I regretted not tasting you when I'd had the chance—when you were naked against that door. I've regretted it for four days and three nights, ever since…" He bent towards her, and lowered his voice. "It's driven me _crazy_."

Lexie felt her heartbeat pick up. "It has?" She whispered, so quietly she wasn't sure he'd heard.

But when she felt his tongue push its way inside her a few seconds later, she cried out, knowing he was giving her an answer… And a taste of what he'd been going through. Her hands reaching for his shoulders automatically, pulling him closer and closer, wanting—_needing_—more and more and _more_. She was certain she would come any second. It had been such a long time since Jackson had gone down on her, and _god, _did Dr. Sloan have a talented tongue.

He grinned when he felt her nails through both his lab coat and his scrubs. God, he'd missed her enthusiasm. He couldn't believe it'd only been four days. It felt like a four years. It felt like an eternity. He suddenly needed to hear her. He wanted to hear her scream and moan; he wanted to feel her hands tugging at his hair; he wanted her to say his name.

He needed to be inside her.

But he had to finish this first. He could feel that she was close.

"Tell me," he whispered, as his talented tongue made use of her ever-growing wetness, "have you fucked your little boyfriend since you last saw me?"

Lexie's eyes shot open, and her head lurched up off the couch as she stared down at him on the floor. He was still licking her—as if he hadn't just mentioned her boyfriend while his mouth was on her—and though she wanted nothing else than for him to continue, she had to pull away. He looked confused when she did so, but she quickly snapped, "That's—none of your business."

"It is definitely my business," he shot back immediately. She saw something flash in his eyes, and watched as he stood to his feet. "I want to know if another man's cock's been inside you besides mine."

Anger flared across her face at his presumption, and it lit up her dark eyes defiantly, even as she sat, spread out, on that on that couch in his office, with a rumpled shirt and her skirt pushed up past her waist. "And _I_ want to know what other patients besides me you've been screwing on the side!" She replied, sounding much more furious than she'd intended. She immediately berated herself for yelling. She hated how weak and needy it made her sound. How jealous. She squeezed her eyes shut. _I am not jealous. I have no reason to be jealous._ Her eyes opened, and her next realization filled her with such great satisfaction, because it would be so easy to accomplish.

She wanted to make him jealous… and he had just told her exactly what she needed to say.

"Answer me," he growled, and she suppressed a smile at how on-cue it was. "Have you fucked him since you saw me?"

She glared at him a moment before letting that smug smile spread over her face. "Well," she began slowly, settling herself back against the expanse of his couch, "you remember those red panties you stole? I wore them for him." Mark tried not to let out a growl, and his eyes burned into hers as he stared down at her. "Did you see how they matched my bra? Yeah, he likes that. And I _like _doing things he likes."

Mark clenched his jaw at her words; he knew what was coming. He just wished it didn't make him so fucking envious. Why did he care, anyway? She had a boyfriend; so what? It wasn't like she was the first woman he'd ever cheated with. He knew the rules, he knew how things went. They used him until they got bored or got their man back, and he had his quick, illicit fun with them. It was easy—no feelings, no emotions, nothing tying him down… Most times, it was a relief when they went back to their boyfriend or husband, and he could move onto the next girl. But everything seemed to be different with her, for some reason. He _cared _what she was doing with that boyfriend almost as much as he cared what she was doing with him… And he hated that. He hated caring and he hated that he'd let it slip out in front of her. He'd told her exactly where to hit so it'd hurt; practically given her the go-ahead to take full advantage of him.

"When I got home from the appointment, I'd always planned on taking him immediately to bed. I was going to tell him it was his last chance with my old boobs, so he'd better make the most of it." She smiled. "We were naked before we'd even gotten to bed. When he saw I didn't have any panties, he swore and asked why I didn't tell him earlier. I said I liked to surprise him." She sighed dreamily. "And then I did something else to surprise him. Can you guess what that was?"

Mark wished he could make his heart stop beating so fast. It felt like a jackhammer in his chest.

"I can't hear you," she replied, lifting a hand to her ear. She let it drop a moment later, pouting. "Oh well. I'll tell you anyway. I went to my knees in front of him and put him in my mouth." She sighed. "His cock's so big, though, I couldn't fit it all. Didn't stop me, though. Didn't stop him, either." She grinned. "I lost count of the orgasms after five."

He felt so angry he could hit her. He honestly thought he might—which was why he kept his hands clenched at his sides as he stood above her. "You're lying," he ground out, separating the two words into two menacing sentences.

She merely shook her head. "You'd like it if I were, wouldn't you?" She smirked. "Then it would mean that the only cock that's been inside me has been _yours_… But that'd be a lie. I have a boyfriend, Dr. Sloan."

"I bet I can get you off quicker than he does."

"I'd like to see you try," she sneered.

That was it. He couldn't take anymore. He tore off his coat, his shirt, his pants. She was still grinning at him from her place on the couch, but he could see lust darken her eyes when he rolled the condom he'd pulled form his desk drawer onto his already-hard cock.

He pushed inside her so hard her back bowed from the bed and she had to bite down onto her whole lower lip to stop from screaming. He grunted, pulling out and pushing back in again. He hated that he couldn't hear her scream. He wanted to make her shout and cry out, wanted to hear her beg. He thrust his hips into hers, again and again, as he covered her still-clothed body with his.

"Tell me," he growled, pumping into her, "was it true?"

"Yes," she gasped, but he could tell she didn't hold fast to her answer. He moved forward, tilting his hips, and she moaned at the change in position, at how deeply he penetrated her now.

"Tell me," he ordered, his thumb moving to rub circles around her clit.

"Argh!" She half-shouted, as if she'd wanted to scream but caught herself at the last second. "Fine! Fine, we didn't fuck! God!"

"I _knew_ it," he glowered, pushing into her again, deeper this time, to reward himself.

"I wanted to, we were going to, but we didn't have time—to—to—" Suddenly she shut her eyes closed, and when his eyes found her, she looked exhausted. "I was teasing him that I hadn't worn any panties that day, but we'd barely made it to the bedroom before he… he got called into work." She squeezed her eyes shut, and Mark tried not to care when he saw a few tears leak out. His thumb fell away from her clit then, and he kept his cock completely still inside her. He didn't know why he was bothering. What did he care about her boyfriend and his lack of availability? Shouldn't it be a good thing he wasn't around—then she'd be coming to him more, right? That should make him happy, make him hard, make him eager for more… But all he felt when he looked at her right now was a confusing sadness, accompanied by guilt and pity and frustration.

"I can barely get him off these days before they call him back to the firm," Lexie continued to whisper, "and then when he finally gets home, it's at ten or eleven… but by he's too tired to even return the favor, as much as he might want to." She sniffed. "And by then I'm usually asleep, anyway." She wiped her eyes quickly, looking down. "Nearly all of our sex is make-up sex these days, or one of us paying the other back for putting out when they didn't really want to, at two or three in the morning." She sighed, and looked up at him. "Coming to you for implants was stupid," she told him. "It doesn't matter how big my boobs are or how good in bed I am—he's trying to build himself a career and that comes first, comes before me." She took a breath. "He didn't care about the implants, and why would he," she scoffed, "unless you fuck up and there's a malpractice suit filed that he can chime in on?" She sighed, and her voice fell to a whisper.

"There was a time when I understood." She paused, and searched his eyes. For what, he had no idea. But she continued a second later, so maybe she'd found whatever she was looking for. "You know?" She whispered. "I understood. I supported him and I rooted for him and I was by his side every step of the way. I watched him leave to take the bar, and I was home when he came back. I comforted him when he was certain he'd failed, and I celebrated with him when he got the results. I was standing beside him when he became a lawyer. But that was when we were kids. That was _years _ago. I just…" She shut her eyes. "It's stupid of me, I know, but I never realized being a lawyer would be this time-consuming. And I'm not even the one trying to _be_ a lawyer! Jesus Christ, I'm just his stupid girlfriend, who complains that he's never home, or never awake, or never relaxed. I have no right to demand any of that from him. Not when my job's eight to three five days a week and all it entails is making sure third-graders know their multiplication tables by June."

She sighed, frustrated, and Mark tried to think of something to say to calm her down. Nothing came to mind.

"But his job? He works like a maniac. He's trying to change the world, trying to make it a better place. He's trying to provide for me even though I tell him all the time I don't need providing. I can take care of myself, even on my tiny teacher's salary, but he has it in his head that it's his job to care for me. And it is, it is, I'll give him that… But we're not married. We're not engaged. We just live together. He doesn't need to work himself into the ground for me. I don't need nice things or fancy dinners or an apartment with a working elevator." Her voice cracked here, but she ignored it. Mark tried not to let it haunt him. "I need _him, _but he forgets that, because he's so busy with everything else. He's busy saving the world and making a name for himself and making sure _I _have everything I could ever want or need before he ever thinks that he might have things backwards. I just…" She took a deep breath, and Mark could see tears dangling in her eyes. "I miss the way things used to be between us. We loved each other _so much _those first few years. He was all I ever thought about, and I know I was all he ever thought about. And now…" She wiped her eyes, letting out a bleak laugh. Her eyes roamed over his face and body—especially where hers and his connected—as if for the first time. "Now what?" She chuckled. "Now I'm fucking my plastic surgeon because I can't stand not getting laid for a few weeks?" Her voice turned desperate. "What the hell is _my _problem?"

Mark didn't reply, and tried not to take offense. He knew enough to know he was here to listen, not contribute, and he did so. Part of him still wondered why he'd bothered listening in the first place. She was here for sex, and so was he. Talking and feelings in no way have to come into that. Why was he letting them stake their claim now?

"He's working his ass off," she whispered. "He's working _all the time… _And I'm cheating on him because of it." She looked away and let a few more tears fall. "I am such a horrible person." Her voice choked on the words, and they seemed to echo in the silence that followed.

A minute later, she seemed to finally remember that he was there. "Sorry," she muttered, swiping at her eyes angrily. "I didn't mean to tell you my whole sob story, Jesus." She laughed weakly. "Why the hell would _you_ give a shit?"

Mark swallowed, but his throat was dry. He had to clear it before speaking. "Lexie, I'm sor—"

"Oh, don't try to apologize," she snapped, her eyes flashing to his. She was suddenly very aware of everything she'd told him, and incredibly humiliated that she'd done so. _Couldn't I have just held my fucking tongue for two minutes? Couldn't I have just gotten off and left?_ "You are not part of my life with him, Dr. Sloan, so don't try to insert yourself or your pity there. I don't want it and I don't want _you_." Her eyes were cold and hard and he knew she wasn't bluffing—this was the truth, the whole truth, the one they both had to accept to be able to continue this affair in any semblance of peace. They both knew this would be the last time she'd ever talk to him about her boyfriend or her relationship. She wished she hadn't mentioned either in the first place, but at least the rules were laid out now.

"Just shut up and fuck me," she ordered, her voice quiet and controlled, "because, _yes_, you can give me what my boyfriend can't." She glared at him, her brown eyes fiery. "Are you happy now, Dr. Sloan?" She took a breath, and said the words he'd wanted to hear… Only a few minutes and one long confession too late. It was like everything she'd said about him since she mentioned her boyfriend's name was tainted. He couldn't stand to listen anymore, but it wasn't an option not to. "You are a god," she told him, keeping her voice completely flat and uninterested. "You give me the best sex I've ever had. I've never orgasmed with anyone else the way I do with you."

He opened his mouth when she paused to tell her to stop, but found it impossible. Too quickly, she continued.

"No one has ever made me as wet as you make me, Dr. Sloan. I'm constantly aroused, constantly wanting sex because of you." She bit down on her lower lip, and he saw tears gather in her eyes. When she spoke next, it wasn't in a monotone. "When we finally _do_ find a spare moment to have sex, Jackson and I, you can be sure I'll be thinking of you instead." She glared at him, sniffing. "Are you happy now? Are you _satisfied_, asshole? You've ruined my life, and I've laid here and let you, I've encouraged you to do so."

"Lexie," he whispered, "I—"

She shook her head, looking away. "Please just fuck me," she told him quietly, wiping her eyes. "Just get it over with. If I don't get off now, I won't get off for god knows how long. Jackson's working on a new case right now, so I see him for about two hours every—"

She broke off with a wild gasp as he pulled out and thrust back in again. He didn't care if he was hurting her anymore. He didn't care if he was being gentle. He couldn't stand to hear that man's name on her lips, not ever, but especially not while he was still inside her. He fucked her, hard, until she screamed into his shoulder, until he hit his release, and then he slipped out and threw away the condom as she slid her clothes back into place. The two dressed in silence, and afterwards, she left without a word, not even a sarcastic '_thank-you'_ before she slammed the door.

Later, as he sat in his office alone and stared at nothing, Mark realized that he hadn't kissed her on the lips today, not once since he'd blackmailed the first one out of her, not at all. He tried not to care, and he didn't know why he did, but the simple fact that their lips hadn't met besides when he coerced the action out of her bothered him a hell of a lot more than he'd like to admit.

.

_Author's Note: Reviews are always, always welcome. I'm going to be working on the next chapter of _Out of My Hands_ tonight, and I'll have it posted very soon. Thank you all for reading._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Author's Note: Hello to you who are left. I'm sad that some people dropped this story, but I understand. And I'd rather not get reviews than get people bashing it. Yes, there is sex in this story. Yes, there is infidelity. But you all knew that would be going on when you started it. And many of you know my stories—so you know there will be a happy ending. You just have to wait it out.

This story is not a fairy-tale, and I never claimed for it to be one. Things will not be worked out in one chapter (read: Lexie will not just up and leave her longtime boyfriend immediately because she had a good quickie with her doctor. Come on, people. I know this is the Grey's fandom, but let's try and be a little realistic, shall we?) This is an angst story, a smut story, a drama story... And yes, eventually, a _love_ story. We have not gotten to that part yet, but we will, I promise. I should not have to tell you guys that Mark and Lexie will **_always, always, always_** end up together in my stories. You all know how I love them, and you should all know how I love to put them in impossible situations and make them work their way to happiness. That _work_ is what makes these stories meaningful.

**To the anon MW123**: I'd just like to say thank you. I know you're probably not reading this, and I know you won't be reading the story, but—thank you. I get that you can't read this. And it's okay. I thank you for being so polite and not harping on me about the immorality of it all. And I get that you don't think this is Lexie—but it _is _an alternate universe, therefore Lexie is not the same as she is on the show. And—if you really are reading this—you can know that there will be a happy ending. Jackson will be hurt by it, but not so completely crushed that he can't go on.

**Warning:**** Lexie/Jackson below the cut. I'm sorry but it was necessary. (I actually had a really hard time going back through and editing the beginning; not fun.) But there is also Mark/Lexie. (Does that make up for it?) So general smut warning. Enjoy.**

.

"Yes," Lexie whispered, sighing. "Just like that."

"That feel good, baby?"

"So… good…" She moaned, shutting her eyes.

"It's been a while," he noted softly.

She bit her lip, nodding. She wished he would stop talking and just fuck her. Didn't he see how rare moments like these were? They needed to take full advantage. She guided his lips down to hers, and engaged him in a slow, sensual kiss. She was grinning just after a few seconds.

This morning was perfect. It was _perfect._ He was kissing her, fucking her, and she could feel her orgasm coming. It was close, and getting closer with every thrust of his body inside of hers. She knew she'd come soon and she couldn't wait. It seemed like it'd been an eternity since she'd last had an orgasm, and even longer since she'd had one with her boyfriend. She was in heaven…

…Though there was still a little devil perched on her shoulder, whispering dirty things in her ear and reminding her of the few but glaring imperfections in this morning. Chief among them was the slow, almost careful way Jackson was moving inside her. She bit back a groan, not wanting to break the moment, but—she needed more. She needed him to go faster and harder and deeper. She needed him to be more like M—

No. _No, _she wouldn't think that. She wouldn't think his name. And she _absolutely _would _not _compare him to her boyfriend. They were incomparable. But… still…

"Harder," she found herself moaning. _Faster, deeper…_

Lexie's thoughts were interrupted by a loud ringing. Her eyes shot open and her head immediately snapped to her right, to the nightstand that stood beside the bed. There was a phone sitting on it, and an incessant vibration was accompanying its shrill ring. Lexie immediately looked back to her boyfriend.

"Don't you dare answer that," she ordered.

"I have to, Lex." She heard the apology in his voice, but it didn't stop him from reaching over for his phone as quickly as he could.

"Jackson—"

He put a finger to her mouth, put the phone to his ear, and answered it. "Jackson Avery."

She clenched her body around him, but apart from the slight grimace on his face, she might've thought he hadn't even felt it, might have thought he wasn't even still inside her. She scowled. She wanted to push him back in bed, fuck him without pause, and then smash his phone against the wall. That damn phone. She hated it.

"Of course. I'll be there in twenty minutes." He was grinning after he hung up, and he tossed his cell to the other side of the bed. "Sorry," he murmured, bending back down. "I—" He broke off when she shoved him back. "What?" He protested, looking started.

"You took a call while we were having sex!" She replied angrily. She shoved his shoulders again, hard enough that he fell back and out of her.

"It was work!" He exclaimed, still surprised, still confused, as he fell back against the mattress.

"Exactly!" She was shouting now, but she didn't care. She'd had enough of his work interrupting their life. "It's always work! It's always, always, _always _work—"

"Lex," he interrupted patiently. "You knew what my job would be like when we—"

"Yes, your _job_!" She interrupted. "Your job, Jackson, not your life!" She gestured between them. "_This _is life, your life, my life. _Our _life. _That_—" She pointed an accusing finger to his discarded phone. "—is _work._ Leave your work _out_ of our life."

"It isn't that simple, Lexie, and you know that."

She snapped her head away from his so he wouldn't see her face contort in fury. He was using his patient voice on her. She hated that voice. He should know that. "Well, it should be that simple," she muttered, hopping off the bed and getting ready for work herself. She looked at the clock beside their bed. God, it wasn't even seven. "Who the hell is calling you at six-fifty, anyway?" She demanded to know, pulling open a draw angrily to grab a pair of underwear and a bra. "Don't they know that you need to sleep?"

She could hear a smile in his voice when he replied, "Lawyers don't sleep, Lex."

"Yeah, well, teachers do." After putting on her panties, she clipped on her bra and the turned to face him. "Teachers need to be fucked every once in a while, too," she told him angrily, her hands on her hips.

"Oh, _now_ you want sex," he smirked, his eyes roaming over her. "After you wouldn't let me finish."

"That was a matter of principle, not of want," she corrected. "I'm sick of having my life interrupted because of your goddamn job."

He laughed at that. "And you're regretting sticking by that principle already, aren't you?"

She bit her lip so she wouldn't smile, but it peeked out anyway. "Shut up," she muttered under her breath, annoyed.

"It's just a meeting," he told her as he got dressed. "It won't take long."

"Yes, but I'll be at work by the time you'd get back," she replied, zipping up her skirt before walking over to the closet to grab a blouse.

"Now whose work is getting in the way?"

Lexie smiled, but ignored his teasing. As she buttoned up her blouse, she felt his hands wrap around her waist. She ignored his touch until she'd finished dressing. Then she turned around, and found him only to be wearing his pants. "Put on your shirt," she instructed, "and I'll do your tie."

He smirked, but put on his dress shirt nonetheless. "Usually you're ordering me to take _off _my clothes, not put them on," he noted as he did up the buttons.

She smiled faintly, pulling open a drawer for ties. She rifled through the choices wondering, "Is this important? The meeting?"

"I don't know. All they said was to be there immediately."

"'They?'" Lexie questioned, debating between green and blue. "Who's 'they?'"

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know. One of Morgan's receptionists. Thursday, I think her name is."

Lexie smirked. Patrick Morgan, one of the founding partners at Morgan & Shaw, her boyfriend's firm, had an ego the size of the solar system, and an unimaginable number of lackeys to match, and to do his bidding. She knew Jackson and his colleagues liked to joke that the man had a different receptionist for every day of the week. To Lexie, it seemed like it was every day of the year.

She froze, and slowly turned to face her boyfriend. "Morgan…" She swallowed, licking her lips. "_Patrick _Morgan called you into his office? At six in the morning?"

"It's seven. And his _receptionist_ called me, Lex. Not him." He nodded towards the two different fabrics in her hands. "Tie, babe?"

"He…" She took a breath to steady herself, and all her earlier annoyance left her in a rush. "You know what this means, don't you? This—You could be getting promoted. This could be real, this could be _huge_!" She was suddenly squealing, jumping up and down, and pummeling him with the ties. "Ohmygod, you could be—"

"I could also be getting fired," Jackson interrupted dryly. He snatched one of the ties she'd dropped. "Give me that, I'll be late." He flipped up the collar of his shirt, wrapping the fabric around the back of his neck.

"Come here," she whispered, grabbing either end of his tie to pull him close for a kiss. "You'll do amazing."

"It's a meeting, not a test, Lexie."

"You'll do amazing," she repeated, knowing he was nervous. His way of brushing important things off and trying to make them less significant just screamed, _Help me._ "I just know it."

.

Mark Sloan did not have much experience with feeling lost.

He had been physically lost before, geographically, but he had never been lost… intellectually. Emotionally. He'd never had no idea what he was doing with his life, or with the people in it. Nevertheless, if he had to sum up the past few weeks in one word, then, yes, it would be _lost._

And it was all her fault.

That's what made it even worse. He wasn't lost because of work. He wasn't lost because of his non-existent family, because of his half-friends. He was lost because of a _woman_. He shut his eyes. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but it was becoming clearer and clearer everyday that somethingcertainly _was_ wrong. He couldn't stop replaying their last meeting in his head. He couldn't sit in his office anymore because all he thought about was her, tasting her, being inside her. He remembered telling her that last day how she'd driven him crazy—now he was sure he was certifiably insane. And it was all her fault.

He hated feeling this way. He hated acting this way. He wasn't some character in a cheesy romance novel or a low-budget romantic comedy—not that there was anything remotely comedic about this situation, anyway. It was sad and pathetic and stupid.

He closed his eyes. _He _was sad and pathetic and stupid.

_She _was sexy. She was the sexiest woman he'd ever met, ever seen, ever heard about.

And she hadn't spoken to him in three weeks.

The last he'd heard from her was his own office door, slamming in his face.

He thought about that day a lot. He replayed in his mind nearly every night. He thought about her too much, he knew that. But he'd known that for weeks; he'd known it since the moment he'd laid eyes on her. He thought about her all the time, and all the time was much too much. He shouldn't be thinking about her at all.

She had a boyfriend.

And even if she didn't—why should he care about her? She was just a girl that he fucked. She wasn't anything more than that. She didn't deserve this kind of treatment from his mind, this obsessive, unexplainable treatment.

He wondered what she was doing right now. He looked down at his watch. It was six o'clock; it was time to leave. Time to go home to his empty apartment on its empty floor, with its empty bed. He sighed to himself. He _could_ call someone. He knew that. If he wanted his bed to be full, he could have it overflowing. He could have any woman he wanted; any man, too, if he ever felt like experimenting.

It was a cruel twist of that bitch fate's strings that he the only woman he wanted was completely unavailable and—he had no doubt of this after how they last left things—it was clear she hated him.

He tried not to think of her naked and writhing on that couch when he changed in his office. He really needed to get rid of that damn couch—though who knew if removing the offending object would actually help him. He slipped out of his scrubs, into his street clothes, and left without another look. But that didn't mean the memories didn't haunt him, as he knew they would. The entire walk from his back office to the front street, he could hear her moan in his ear. He could feel her skin sliding against his. He didn't say one word to his driver, Ryan, for fear of what might come out if he didn't watch himself.

Not needing directions, Ryan drove quietly and efficiently to Mark's apartment building. He got out, opened the door, and waited for his employer to step out. He didn't. "Something wrong, sir?" He tilted his head down to look into the back seat.

"Nothing's wrong," Mark replied at once.

"Do you want me to take you somewhere else? I just assumed…"

Ryan watched as Dr. Sloan shook his head. He looked incredibly preoccupied. No doubt he was worrying over surgery. Ryan wondered privately if something had gone wrong today. He held back from asking. They didn't have that sort of relationship. On most days, they didn't even exchange "hello"s.

"Would you like me to drive around the city for a while?" He asked, thinking that might take the surgeon's mind off things.

Mark smirked at him. "You mean so you can make some extra bucks? Sure."

"You just look distracted, is all. I thought—"

"You know what?" Mark interrupted. "That sounds like a good idea. Drive around. Maybe I'll find someplace to eat."

Ryan nodded, and put his hand on the door to get ready to close it. "Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to go, sir?"  
Mark thought for a moment. He was tired of the usual places he went. Expensive wine and good food, believe it or not, did get old after a while. He eyed his driver. The kid was in his twenties, probably late twenties at that. He didn't look rich—if he was, why, then, would he be a personal cabbie?—but he didn't look poor, either. Mark figured he was just as wealthy as any other working Joe in the city. "Why don't you take me to where you'd eat?" He suggested.

The kid's face blanked. "Sir?"

"Take me to somewhere you'd eat, Ryan." Mark paused. "I don't want some lousy greasy burger joint, obviously, but—"

"I'll take you somewhere nice," the driver interrupted, nervous. "It'll be nice, I swear, I'll—"

"_Kid,_" Mark interrupted, leaning forward. "You're taking me to a restaurant, not taking me to dinner." He paused, surveying his driver. "Just take me somewhere where I can get a decent steak, okay? And have a nice scotch."

Ryan nodded, swallowing. "Okay. Sure." He moved to slam the door, but Mark held it open a moment.

"And take your time," Mark instructed. "I haven't seen the city in a while."

.

He was late.

Lexie sighed, probably for the twentieth time since she'd arrived at the small bistro Jackson had mentioned on the phone earlier. He said seven-thirty and it now seven-fifty. She should have known from the second he used the word "date" on the phone that this was a bad idea. Dates were always a bad idea.

She and Jackson did not do dates. They never did dates. Because dates never worked.

He was always late and by the time he got there—if he did—she had usually already started for home, picking up Chinese on her way.

_This time would be different, _she told herself when he'd called. He had had that meeting with Morgan this morning, and though she'd texted him almost every hour between classes, he hadn't once texted her back. That could only mean one thing: he'd been given more work. She had hoped all day that he hadn't been demoted. It couldn't be possible, she told herself. He worked like a fiend, she told herself. They would never demote him. And just as she was starting to lose all hope, he'd called and arranged this date. That could only mean something good had happened, if he was taking her out to dinner.

And it was a nice place. It really was. It looked tiny from the outside, but once you took a step inside, the entire space opened up before you. There were even steps leading downstairs, to a more private setting. Places in New York City were like that most of the time: they looked like nothing on the outside, but once you walked in, it was like you were in another world. Lexie loved that feeling. It wasn't that she wanted to be away from New York—she didn't—but sometimes it was nice to disappear from her life for a while. Sometimes it was nice to just lose herself in someplace new.

She wondered if Jackson had somehow had this all in mind when he'd made a reservation, or if he'd just called a restaurant and asked for a table for two. She sighed again. It was probably the latter.

"You know you can sit at the bar. You don't have to wait, standing by the door, for him to show up."

Lexie almost jumped at the voice. She turned her head and found a pretty woman with straight black hair giving her a comforting smile from behind the hostess' stand. "I'm fine," she answered immediately.

"I'm sorry," the girl told her, speaking cautiously, "but he… might not be coming."

Lexie almost laughed at the careful way she tried to break the news. _Don't worry, _she wanted to say, _I've been through this before._ "He's coming," she said instead, and gave the girl a quick smile.

The girl muttered something under her breath—what sounded like a skeptical _ooookay_—but Lexie ignored her. Instead, she turned to the bar, thinking maybe she should get a drink while she waited. The girl was right; she'd been standing on her feet for too long. She'd worn heels, too, and now they hurt. A tall chair and a stiff drink would do her some good.

She froze before she'd even taken two steps in the direction of the bar. She couldn't believe her eyes. She didn't know how this was possible.

God damn it, how was this_ possible?!_

.

Mark Sloan smirked to himself when he heard a small, quick intake of breath behind him. He knew it was in relation to him. He was alone at the bar and she was too close not to have noticed him. His smirk widened. It had been a while since he picked up a girl in a bar. And even longer since he'd had some good, dirty sex in a bar bathroom.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin quickly and turned to face this mystery woman. He wondered what sort she was, and if she'd be up for a trip back to his apartment. It would be a long ride home from where he was now. Maybe they could even do it in the back of the car on the way home.

When he finally came face-to-face with his potential date for the night, he couldn't have been more surprised. Or more delighted. He tried not to grin since he knew she'd be able to see it. This night was looking up already.

"Ms. Grey," placing a polite smile on his lips. He only half-hoped it hid all the sinful things he wanted to do to her if he could get her alone. It had been so long since he'd last seen her. "What brings you here?"

"D—Dinner," she managed. She was gripped the strap of her purse tight—so tight her knuckles were almost white. He smiled. It'd been too long.

"I don't see the boyfriend," he noted conversationally.

"He hasn't shown up yet."

"So you're not taken, then?" He waved an inviting hand. "Come on. Have a drink while you wait. I'll keep you company." He watched as she looked around—obviously suspicious of onlookers—but when she deemed their surroundings acceptable, she took the last few steps towards him and sat in a chair to his right.

"What are you doing here?" She asked immediately. Her tone of voice was so accusatory and to-the-point that he deduced that he must be encroaching on her home turf. _So I'm in her neighborhood, _Mark thought to himself. It made him smile. He had never given it a thought to where she lived before.

"I'm eating dinner," he replied, gesturing to the empty plate before him. "Or I was." He took a sip of his scotch. "So…" He leaned back in his chair, checking her out from the corner of his eye. "The boyfriend. How's he doing, by the way?"

"Fine."

"But he isn't here."

"I'm meeting him in a few minutes." She stared straight ahead when she spoke, and didn't once look at him.

"So you have a free few minutes," Mark pointed out, as if remarking on the weather. He reached for his scotch again, downing what little was left in the glass. He saw the way her one eye just barely followed his movements, tracking him. He grinned, knowing it was now or never.

_I can get a lot done in a few minutes, _he thought to himself.

.

"Fast," she whispered, hiking her dress up past her waist as he pushed her so forcefully against the bathroom wall the pictures hanging on it rattled. "We have to do it fast." She gasped when he pressed his erection against her. She was still in her panties and he was still in his boxers, but it didn't matter. He was half-certain his hard-on could rip through fabric, anyway. He was just about to test the theory when she tore her panties down to her ankles, shoved his boxers to his knees, and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her thighs gripped him so tight he thought he might die from the pressure alone. "I don't know when he'll get here and I have to get back before—"

He cut her off with a sharp thrust of his hips against hers. His grunt echoed in the room, but she didn't make a sound. Even as he started pumping inside her, only the quietest whimpers escaped from between her sexy little lips. She bit her lip partway through a particularly loud whimper so it wouldn't turn into a full-fledged moan, and again, he cursed their situation. He hated that she had to keep quiet. He hated that he hadn't heard her scream yet. Lust boiled up inside him, alongside ambition and arrogance. He knew he could make her scream. He could make her shout and cry and yell. He could do it right now…

But they were in public. They were in public restaurant in a public bathroom, and oh, Christ, he was fucking her against the wall in some shitty little bistro's bathroom. He shut his eyes. That mere fact alone could make him come. The possibility that her boyfriend might be outside nearly did him in. God, it had been too long. Why hadn't he had sex with anyone else since their last time in his office? How stupid _was _he? She gasped aloud when he pushed deeper into her. He withdrew again before diving back in, and after he repeated this a few more times, he began to feel her walls start to clench around him.

He groaned, low but desperately, into her neck. "Fuck," he whispered into her collarbone. "Fucking hell, Lexie…"

"Please…" She was whimpering almost incoherently now. Oh, god, he couldn't take that. She was begging for him, Jesus Christ. Who _was_ this woman? "Please. Please, faster. I need…"

"What?" He whispered. He lifted his face from her neck, and looked her in the eyes. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and he loved it. She looked so beautiful. She was truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he knew she would look even more fantastic when she finally came apart from his touch in just a few seconds. He wanted to watch her when it happened. "What do you need, Lexie? Tell me what you need."

"You," she answered immediately. Her half-lidded eyes found his; they were covered with a film of lust. "Please, Mark, I _need_ you. It's been so long…"

Something about the way she spoke made him still his body inside her. She groaned aloud when things came to a screeching halt, but he couldn't pay attention to that right now. She had just called him by his first name. She'd called him Mark. She hadn't called him 'Dr. Sloan.' She hadn't called him a bastard or an asshole or a freak or any of her other choice pet names… He bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't smile like a little girl at that realization. _She called me Mark. _The simple fact that she'd used his name while he was inside her made him happier than he'd been in three entire weeks. It meant she knew who he was, it meant that she acknowledged that it was _him _doing this to her.

He frowned a second later. _It's been so long… _It _had _been too long. It had been too damn long, and holy hell, how had he gone three entire weeks without once feeling her sweet pussy wrapped around him? How had he gone three entire weeks without her moans and whimpers, without feeling her nails dig into his back even through his clothes? More importantly, _why _had he gone three weeks without her in the first place? Because of a little spat? Please. He decided it was time for her to own up to her absence, to give him the truth. He deserved and explanation.

"And whose fault is it that it's been so long?" He wondered aloud. He watched her swallow nervously. "Three weeks," he told her, pushing into her especially hard to highlight his disapproval. "Why haven't you visited me again?"

"It wasn't—appropriate," she gasped the words, as he had never stopped penetrating her while they spoke.

"Wrong answer," he dismissed. He almost laughed at that answer too. The word '_appropriate_'had no meaning in their world. It had no substance. It was a foreign concept. It was not known and it did not want to be known.

"I have a boyfriend."

"Not relevant."

"I—Fine!" She called. "You want to know why? You want to know why I haven't visited? Because I thought I could go on without you. I thought I could live my life and forget about Dr. Mark Sloan, who fucked me in his practice, who ate me out in his office. I thought if I left and never saw you again I would forget you existed, forget what happened between us. And I thought it would all stop being real if I forgot."

"And did you?" He growled. "Did you forget?"

She shook her head. She looked to be somewhere between horrified and desperate, and her hands clutched his shoulders tight and hard. "No," she whispered. He could've imagined it, but he would've sworn she'd tightened her grip on his shoulders when she spoke to him, and pulled him closer. "No, I never forgot."

"And you never will," he promised roughly, just before slamming his mouth to hers and thrusting his hips so hard towards her that she cried out inside his mouth. He heard the pictures on the wall shake again as he pounded into her, but he didn't care. She was so close—and he was so close, too—that caring about anything else but climaxing was off the table. He didn't care if the restaurant crumbled to pieces around them. He didn't care if New York City burned to the ground. He was inside her and that was all that mattered.

.

"Is he here?"

It took her a moment to come back to earth after they'd both finished. She was still shaking when he lowered her to the ground. It took her another moment to remember whom he was talking about. She pulled her phone out of her purse and glanced at it. Still no call; no text. Jackson would've done at least one of those things if he'd arrived and found her missing. "N… No," she murmured, tucking her phone away and trying not to sound too disappointed. She should've seen this coming. No, she _had _seen this coming, damn it. And she'd hoped anyway. "He's not. We had a date, but—"

"He didn't show."

Lexie stared at him, surprised at the hard, almost angry way he said that. "What do you care?" She asked, defensive.

He shrugged, playing it off. "No reason."

"Mark."

He sighed, and blinked down at the ground before lifting his eyes to hers. The clear blueness of them nearly took her breath away. "Because," he stated. "I would never stand you up like that."

She spoke quickly next so she wouldn't have to focus on that statement or what it meant. Or what it made her feel. "He isn't standing me up. He's meeting me here. He's just late."

"Then he should've called," Mark replied, hiking his pants back up. He zipped and buttoned them in silence.

She stared at him. She couldn't understand this thing that was happening between them. Her clothes were in disarray, her hair was mussed, and she'd just been fucked in a restaurant bathroom while she should've been eating dinner with her boyfriend… But none of that really mattered. She didn't care about any of it. Not while he was reaching for the door and getting ready to leave. She didn't care about anything but stopping him. "I want to see you again," she blurted, the first thing that came to mind.

He froze at that. She exhaled in relief when his hand dropped back to his side. Slowly, he turned to face her. "You do?" He wondered aloud.

She couldn't help but smile at the hope in his voice. She didn't know why that made her happy, but it did. "I do," she replied. She paused. "For sex," she felt the odd need to clarify a second later.

He smirked at that. "Really?" He wondered. "Because I thought we were picking out floral arrangements for our wedding next month. But now it's just sex? Really?"

Though she knew she should be glaring at him, she couldn't help but smile and laugh a little. Why was he always the one to make her laugh?

"But really," she told him, serious now, "I'd like to see you again."

He paused, nodding along. "You're still with the boyfriend, though?"

She nodded, chewing on the inside of her lip nervously. "Is that a deal breaker?" She whispered, so much softer than she'd originally intended. She hated that her mouth went dry as she waited for him to answer. She was just now coming to terms with the fact that she couldn't let him go, and if he walked away now…

"No."

She took a breath of relief. _Thank god_. "I won't talk about him again," she told Mark quietly. "I'm sorry about the last time."

"You were having a rough day."

She laughed weakly at the understatement. "I've been having a rough year."

He bit his tongue. He wanted to ask why. No, he _knew _why. What he really wanted to ask was how. _How_ could still be with him? If he made her so unhappy—okay, not unhappy, Mark conceded, but definitely not _happy_—why did she stay with him? He stared at her. He wondered if she was one of those people that was scared of being alone.

He smiled. That would make him her opposite. Nothing worried him more than being part of a couple.

"Do you have a pen?" He asked suddenly.

Lexie's lip twitched sideways at that, confused, but then she bent down to look through her purse. "I think so…" She rummaged in it a moment, but only came up with a crayon. She smiled when she handed it to him. "That's what I get for being an elementary school teacher."

He smirked, taking it, and pressed a small slip of paper against the bathroom wall to have a flat surface to write against. "You'd think you would have a proper writing utensil," he joked.

"I teach third grade, not twelfth," she smiled. "To me, a crayon _is _a proper writing utensil." He watched as she smiled to herself again, ducking her head. "They're still little kids," she said quietly. "They like to think they're growing up, but they're still little kids."

Mark smiled faintly and handed her her crayon back. "And I'm sure you put them all in their place."

She laughed at that. "You have no idea," she replied, tucking the crayon back into her purse. When she looked back up, he was holding a calling card out to her. She stared at it for a moment before her lips twitched into a smile. "What's this?" She wondered, though it was clear what it was.

"It has my address on the back," he replied. "In… What was that, bubblegum pink?" He smirked. "I wrote my address in bubblegum pink for you, if you'd like to visit sometime."

Lexie studied his writing. "What does that mean," she wondered, "'back elevator?'"

"It means talk to the receptionist before you try going up to my apartment."

She snorted, tucking the card away. "What, is there a private elevator? Are you too good to ride with normal people, Dr. Sloan?"

He smiled, and reached for the door. "Why don't you stop by sometime and find out?"

Lexie watched him go, her mouth opening and closing, but nothing ever came out. She wanted to stop him, to keep him here with her just a moment longer… But she had no idea how to make him stay. He never looked back as he left, and she spent the next few minutes alone, debating over what she would've done or said if he had.

Probably the wrong thing, no doubt.

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_Author's Note: The bar/bathroom scene turned out much differently than I originally planned. I hope you guys like this chapter. Please leave your thoughts below :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

_Anons__:_

_Deborah: Thank you so much for your review! Don't worry about your English—it looks completely fantastic to me, and even if it wasn't, I'm sure I'd be able to get your meaning. Thank you SO much for reviewing! I am so, so happy you're loving this story! I really love it too and it means so much that you think it's a fantastic AU. Feel free to review ANY time :)_

_Guest: Oh, thank you! I am so happy you're able to sit down and read this, even if you don't condone the cheating side of things. I agree—It's Lexie and Mark! Come on, people! :) I am so happy you loved this chapter. Thank you so much for reviewing!_

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_Author's Note__: Thank you all for your reviews! I know it's been a little while, but I hope you are all still hanging with me. I have a LOT planned for this story, so I hope you're all still interested. Here's the next chapter._

_Rating__: Strong M_

_Disclaimer__: I own unfaithful Lexie and Mark and I have to say, I love them. _

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He grinned at the shock on her face. He enjoyed surprising her—it had be a long time since he'd had someone up here that was surprised by his standard of living. But with her, it was almost as if he was seeing everything he owned for the first time, seeing its worth and price and value through her ever-impressed eyes. He liked that, and liked even more the fact that it gave him another excuse to keep her around.

"The elevator opens right into your _apartment?_" This had to be the tenth time she'd asked the question—every time he replied, in a bored tone but with a smirk, "Yes, Lexie"—but she never seemed to remember his answer. "I—I didn't know real people even _had _those," she continued, looking around the lift as it rose. "I just thought it was millionaires and business tycoons and movie stars and…"

"Plastic surgeons?" Mark supplied with a grin.

She glanced over to him, smiling back. He stared at her smile for a minute, taking it in, and decided to refrain from informing her that he _was, _in fact, a millionaire. Many times over. Instead, he did what he always did when speechless with her—he bent down and kissed her.

He could hear her quiet laugh of surprise that overtook her just as his lips found hers, and it made him smile into their kiss. Almost instantly her laugher turned to moans; by then, her hands were pulling at his shirt collar and ripping through the buttons. In response, he had stepped forward a few paces, forcing her up against the back of elevator. Reflexively, her hand gripped the metal bar running along the side and hoisted herself up from it to meet him. His lips took hers without sparing a care for breath, and when she had to pull away for a gasp of air, he met her eyes with a grin. He was stepping forward again, and covering her body fully with his, when the elevator finally _ding_ed his floor.

_What horrible timing, _Mark and Lexie thought to themselves.

Reluctantly, but with his characteristic shit-eating grin, he stepped away from her. He spread out an arm in the direction of the hardwood flooring that expanded from the entrance, remarking in a smug but serious tone, "Welcome to the good life, Ms. Grey."

Without a word, he led the way to the bedroom, past the open living space, the modern kitchen, and various hallways that led off towards the other rooms. They could waste time on a full tour later. Right now there was only one room that mattered.

"Jeez…" Lexie whistled, coming to a stop in the doorway of his bedroom. Out of the four walls of his bedroom, two of them were made entirely of glass and offered a perfect—and what had to be unparalleled—view. They overlooked the city from what seemed like a hundred floors up. The entire city was spread out before them—most clearly was Central Park, so close—just across the street—and taking up so much of the view. It was beautiful. She'd never been this high up before, and never this close to the park… Lexie didn't even want to begin to think about how expensive this apartment was. She had an idea that even if she worked every hour of her life for the next forty years, she still wouldn't be able to pay one month's rent.

Mark came up behind her, and she could feel the heat from his body as he stood mere centimeters away. "Like the view?" She could hear the grin in his voice.

She looked over his shoulder, meeting his eye. "Do you mean the one we're looking at now, or the one your neighbors are going to be getting in a couple minutes?" She couldn't believe he brought women here—or that women even _came_ here—when it was so exposed. Two entire walls were made of glass windows—Jesus, it was like having sex out in the open!

Mark smirked at her veiled worry, reaching over to the wall with one hand. He flicked a switch Lexie had been too preoccupied to notice and suddenly—where there had been two walls of a perfect New York City skyline before her, there was now just fuzzed, frosted glass from top to bottom. "They don't need to see anything," he told her.

She turned around to look at him, awestruck. "How did you do that?" She demanded to know.

He grinned, chuckling, and hit the button again. The view was now completely visible, as if nothing had happened to obscure it just a second ago. It was easy as that—just a flick of a switch—and they were either locked away in a private bedroom or showing off for all of New York's high-powered businessmen to see.

Lexie felt a shiver run up her body at the second thought, and felt her knees wobble with want.

"That's so fucking hot," she breathed. Without another word, she whirled around and slammed her lips to Mark's, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He grinned, surprised, and quickly moved to kiss her back. He tangled his tongue with hers, and burrowed a hand in her hair, but he faltered a bit when she turned them and started backing him towards the bed. "Lexie," he mumbled against her lips, trying to escape her powerful kiss for a moment, "the windows—"

"Leave them," she replied tersely. "Jesus, leave them, Mark." Her eyes found his, and he saw the desire and excitement there. It made a grin curl across his face. He couldn't wait until she was naked; he couldn't wait to see how wet she was. He had a feeling she'd be drenched.

"God, you're so sexy when you're turned on like this," he remarked.

She grinned, flashing him her white smile as she pulled him closer. "You perv," she growled happily, pushing him towards the bed.

"Me?" He replied, letting her lead him where she would. "I'm not the one who's here to put on a show to the entire city, Lex." His knees hit the back of the bed.

Her dark eyes shone with mischief. She released her fists from his shirt and then shoved him—lightly but with enough force—so that he'd fall back onto the mattress. She reached out, cupping his neck in her hands before pulling his lips up to hers. She nipped at his lower lip to end the kiss after a few seconds, and then smirked when she saw his tongue dart out to soothe the temporary pain. Her hands migrated to her own shirt, and she tugged the hemline over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. "But you're playing along with my little show, aren't you, Mark?" She wondered, her dark eyes all lit up as she stood before him in a bright red bra and jeans.

He swallowed, staring her breasts in the face. "I might argue that I'm doing it for you," he replied after a moment. He didn't quite manage to lift his eyes to hers. He could hear her snigger at his preoccupation, but he didn't care. It was no secret anymore, what her body did to him.

A moment later, she was placing her knees on either side of him, and then straddling his waist. He hissed when she brought her pelvis against his. God, he'd been craving that friction. He couldn't believe how hard he was already… A smile tugged at his lips. He wondered how wet she was. (It wasn't a question of 'if.' He _knew_ she was wet.)

She moaned aloud when their hips came in contact and his arms wrapped around her, but the sound was trapped inside her mouth since she was biting down on her lip, and it came out much quieter than it would otherwise. His head snapped up at the strangled sound. There was no reason for her to sound like that. There was no reason for her to hold back. His eyes found hers, and his hands went to her hips to hold her in place.

She stared down at him, confused, but he soon reached up and ran his thumb along the length of her lower lip. It fell open as his finger passed by it. "Rule number one of having sex in my apartment," Mark told her, "I need to be able to _hear _you, Lexie."

He could swear her cheeks almost pinked in embarrassment when he said that. Her mouth opened and closed for a moment, but she gathered herself quickly. "You want to be able to _hear _me?" She wondered. Mark felt a grin turning up his lips. He could hear the challenge coming in her tone of voice, and he knew he'd accept it. "What do you want to hear, Mark?"

His hands moved from her hips to her ass, and then, without warning, he gripped her tight and yanked her body against his. He relished the loud, guttural sound her throat emitted as their centers connected—unfortunately while they were still fully clothed. "I want to hear you moan," Mark told her above her noise, "yes, just like that." His hands groped her perfect ass through her jeans, squeezing it. "I want to hear you sigh, I want to hear you curse, I want to hear you beg me for more…" He tilted his head, and his bright blue eyes took on a darker, more intense shade. "And most importantly, I want to hear you shout." He leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. Instead, he planted his lips on the column of her neck and kissed her there, licking her with his tongue. "I want to hear you scream my name, Lexie," he ordered, his voice low and rough as he whispered into her ear.

Lexie tried not to shiver at his command, but it was impossible. The best she could hope for was that he hadn't noticed. She wondered if he knew what he was asking for—but there's no way he could, she supposed. She thought about telling him—_I don't scream. I just don't.—_but she figured there was no point. Part of her suspected—giddily, too—that he would, in fact, be the first to make her scream. The thought excited her. She'd had sex before, of course, even good sex—sometimes _great_—but she'd never had sex with someone the way she had sex with Mark. She'd never had such intense sex that the only way to get her feelings off her chest was to shout out loud as whoever she was with filled her with his cock.

Interestingly enough, though, Mark had already made her want to scream on numerous occasions. Each time, though, it hadn't been possible. People would have heard, people would have come running… But now they were all alone. Now he could be the first to make her scream.

Interestingly enough, Mark had been the first to make her do a lot of things when it came to sex. For instance, she'd never had sex against a door before she met him. In fact—she'd rarely had sex out of a bed before he'd fucked her against that door just after he'd kissed her for the first time. She'd certainly never had such public sex, either… First his practice's exam room, then his private office, then that bistro's bathroom, and now—_now_—she was being fucked in his nearly wall-less bedroom… Anyone could look over and see them going at it. Lexie closed her eyes, realizing just how much that idea turned her on right now. Jesus Christ, he was turning her into a grade-A slut.

Not that she minded. No, she actually didn't mind at _all_, come to think of it.

In fact, she _liked_ it, and she liked it a lot. She took pride in it. She had never in her life suspected that she'd be able to attract a man who looked like Mark did. He was like a model or a movie star; he couldn't be real. And all the things she wanted to do with him just seemed to come with the territory of being with a guy like him. Catching Jackson had been a feat all in its own—but how in the world had she found a _second _gorgeous man? And how in the world were they both interested in her? She almost laughed aloud when she thought about it.. What was going on with men these days?

She was brought back to the present when she felt his hands reaching up to unhook her bra from the back. She was about to reach back to help him, but he surprised her by unclipping it without trouble on the first try. She smiled, letting the straps fall slowly, tantalizingly down her shoulders and bare arms.

Her bra hadn't even completely left her body when he'd pulled her into his arms and flipped them around. She gasped, surprised and delighted, when her back hit the mattress as he was suddenly crouching over her, now shirtless. She couldn't resist—her hands went automatically to his bare chest and abs, running her hands all over his sculpted muscles. They felt just as amazing as they looked: hard and solid and defined. She couldn't believe she'd never really _seen _them before… How had she let him wear a shirt every time they got together? More to the point, why didn't he just walk around without one on all day? Or better yet, walk around completely naked? Lexie smirked. No, he couldn't do that. Women would assault him every step he took.

"I don't know why you came to me in the first place," he murmured, kicking off his pants before pressing his nearly naked body close against hers. "Your breasts are perfect the way they are," he remarked, putting his hands on them. He tweaked both nipples lightly—just a quick squeeze of his thumb and forefinger around the sensitive nubs—and then grinned when she gasped so loud her chest rose off the bed. He bent down, kissing her open mouth. "That's what I like to hear," he murmured against her lips. His hands cupped her breasts harder now, kneading them. "Show me how much you want me, Lexie. Come on…" One hand trailed down her bare stomach, and wormed its way beneath her jeans and panties. She was so wet, he could feel it soaking through her panties before he even encountered her drenched center. "There it is…" He bent down, drawing her hard nipple into his mouth and lathering it with his tongue. "God, you're soaking for me, Lexie," he whispered, switching to her other breast as he pushed two fingers deep inside her hot core.

She'd been whimpering at this point, mumbling and whispering, but now was the first time he heard her cry out. And it was the first time he'd ever heard her swear in direct correspondence to what he was making her feel. "Shit!" He realized very quickly that he liked the sound of profanities on her lips. It clashed so wonderfully with her prim-and-proper image, and he wanted to hear more of it.

He grinned, and pumped his fingers inside her harder. It was tough to move them, seeing as her jeans were still on, but he managed for a few seconds. "That feel good?" He wondered, nearly as breathless as she, just before he pulled his fingers out. He bent down and kissed her when he heard her start to protest at his absence.

"You pants," he murmured against her mouth, "need to come off now, Ms. Grey."

Lexie didn't know what it was about hearing him call her that—but it made her pussy quiver with torrid want. Part of her realized how messed-up this was—her third graders called her 'Ms. Grey,' for Christ's sake—but hearing it come from his lips, his mouth… If any words could make her orgasm immediately, it'd be those two. She didn't know if he was doing so intentionally, but he made that title sound so dirty, so sinful and vulgar. She wondered if he'd feel the same way about her calling him 'Dr. Sloan.' She felt a satisfied smirk turn up her lips. That discovery was something she'd have to save for next time, she decided.

Once her pants and panties were pulled off, she automatically reached for his boxers—and he automatically drove his fingers inside her again. She yelped when he did so—she hadn't been expecting him so fast or so forceful—but she didn't let go of the hem of his underwear. She looked into his eyes in that first moment, and all at once she realized what this was: a competition. He thought he'd be able to render her incoherent (and therefore incapacitate her efforts to undress him) before she'd be able to get to his cock. She grinned at the challenge, but the gesture looked more like she was baring her teeth at him than smiling. She didn't mind. Either worked.

He put up a good fight. He brought her more than halfway to coming by the time she'd managed to pull his cock out and take it in her hands. She relished in the low, husky groan he emitted when she stroked him. A second later, his fingers left her, and they made the joint, telepathic decision that her body was better off being filled with his cock instead of his hand.

And fill her he did.

"MARK!" She could see him grin above her, but in that moment, she didn't care that she had given in to his demands for her to scream his name as quickly as she had. The slight humiliation was worth it—as long as he was inside her.

"You're so tight," he whispered breathlessly, withdrawing himself and then shoving his large length back inside her.

"What can—you expect?" She panted. "It's been—" she laughed "—an entire week!"

He grinned, continuing to move inside her without pause as he replied, "At least it wasn't three again."

_It won't be three ever again, _Lexie thought, but didn't quite manage to say. Her breath was coming quicker now, faster… She swallowed. God. Sometimes she wished he wasn't as good and quick in bed as he was. Sometimes she liked it when men took their time, liked the build-up they used to draw out her orgasms. With Mark, though, she had a feeling he could keep her on a continuous string of orgasms just to amuse himself with very little effort.

She let her eyes fall closed, forcing herself to breathe out as she neared completion. Her arms and legs were wrapped around his lean, muscled body. His body was buried deep in hers—skin to skin, he felt like he was drowning into her, with his cock leading the way. He clenched his jaw as he continued pumping himself inside her—his thrusts were sharper now; deeper, quicker, faster. He couldn't draw this out anymore. He needed her, he needed her now, and Jesus Christ, he needed to come.

It had been over a full week since he'd last seen her… That meant it had been over a full week since the last time he'd gotten laid. By her. He closed his eyes, grunting, and pushed himself into her harder. Her moans and cries spurred him on, and thankfully kept his own orgasm at bay as he struggled to succeed in making her come first. He tried to remember the last time he'd been faithful to a woman like this. (He ignored the fact that she wasn't being faithful to him. That didn't matter. They weren't dating, and besides, he didn't care. He just didn't. Even if he did… No, he didn't.) He suspected maybe it was in his earlier twenties. He was young and impressionable back then—still naïve enough to believe that men and women fell in love with each other and lived happily ever after. More than one woman had showed him how juvenile those thoughts were, and after them, he didn't bother trying to cultivate relationships anymore. Sex was a need—just like hunger or thirst—so he sated it when he had to, and moved on. You didn't go back and eat the same sandwich you'd tasted last month, did you? How were women any different?

But with Lexie… All his past went out the window, erased. All the rules he'd made up for himself didn't matter or hold true anymore. She was so different from anyone he'd ever been with; even just her fully clothed presence intoxicated him. He didn't understand it. He had never met a woman like her—a woman so blatantly sexual, but at the same time, so quiet and reserved. Someone just as troubled and vulnerable as he was.

_We're a perfect match, _Mark thought sarcastically to himself, smirking at the thought. He remembered her boyfriend then, but he was pleased that he could say for sure that _she_ hadn't remembered him. She was screaming _his _name after all, Mark observed with a shit-eating grin. _My name. I want to hear you scream my name, Lexie._ And now she was. She was shouting his name for all to hear—while being fucked by him where all could see.

For all intents and purposes—well, all which pertained to this one small window in time, that is—she was his.

When he came not more than mere moments later—buried deep inside her and shouting her name as well—he tried not to think of how clearly she might be thinking the same thought about him. _He's mine_. It made him smile before he could stop himself. But then he sobered, and realized that she was probably only thinking of her boyfriend, not him. Mark tried to ignore the anger that rose up in him when he thought that. Instead, he focused on her imagining him as hers, and grinned as his body sunk, depleted, into hers.

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"Well…" She panted, minutes after they'd rolled off each other and collapsed on separate sides of the bed. "It was nice to have sex in a real bed with you for once."

Mark grinned, laughing. "What?" He replied breathlessly. "You mean you don't like being fucked against hard walls or laid out on leather couches? What's not to like when you've got bruises on your back afterwards?"

Lexie chuckled, but then seriously admitted, "That couch was actually really comfortable, though." She smiled, smacking the mattress on either side of her. "So's this bed. Damn…" She trailed off, frowning and chewing on her lower lip.

"What?" He wondered.

"I was going to ask how much it cost, but I'm sure the price was astronomical."

He grinned. "Yeah, I don't think you want to know, cheapskate. It would make your poor little head spin."

"Not all of us can be filthy rich, you spoiled brat," she shot back teasingly. She paused a moment. "Can I see the rest?" She wondered, interested, as she got to her feet.

He glanced over, looking to her side of the bed with surprise. "The rest?" He repeated, watching as she pulled on her jeans on top of her panties and a shirt over her bra. His voice sounded sad even to him; he hated when she covered herself with clothes. She looked amazing naked.

She gave him a half-smile. "Yeah. You know, the rest of your apartment." Her lips spread in a full-fledged, mocking grin. "Or, _penthouse, _should I say?"

Mark smirked at her correction, but silently agreed, getting to his feet and pulling on a pair of boxers. "Wait," Lexie called when he was bending over for his shirt. He straightened, turning around with the garment in his hands.

"What?" He wondered. He glanced to the watch on his wrist. _3 PM_. A weird hour, but maybe she had an odd schedule on weekends… "Do you have to go?"

She smiled, shaking her head. He liked the way her long, dark hair fell over half her face when she did so. She pushed it behind her ear, telling him, "Leave the shirt."

The odd request didn't make sense to Mark for a moment, but soon he was grinning happily, and walking towards her. He held his shirt fisted in one hand as he approached her. "Only if you take yours off."

"_No!_" She replied emphatically, shaking her head with a smile.

"Jeans, then," he offered with a half-hidden grin, reaching out to pull her closer with two hands on either curve of her ass.

She crossed her arms over her chest, projecting annoyance, but she was secretly pleased that his hands were on her again. She still craved his touch now, just like she had that first time. "Are you really going to put on your shirt if I don't take off my pants?"

"It's an exchange," Mark replied, amused. "You don't get to gawk at this—" he gestured to his muscled abdomen while Lexie snorted "—without giving _me _something to—"

"—gawk at?" Lexie supplied. She supported her chin with her hand for a moment, pretending to think deeply. "Hm… So my choice is between showing off my boobs or my butt?"

Mark smirked happily. He knew she was giving in. "If I can't have both…" He lamented.

Lexie snickered, reaching down to unbutton her jeans. "I'm well aware that my ass is my best feature," she told him, bending over to tug the tight fabric off her legs.

Mark nodded, walking around to view her posterior. "Looks great in those panties, too." He heard her laugh as she was still pulling them off, and it made him smile. "I like the red."

"They're the ones I wore that first time," she told him, as if he'd forgotten. She hadn't even realized she'd worn them here today until he'd pointed it out their color.

"I remember," he replied.

He could see the surprise on her face when she finally turned around, her bottom half nearly bare. "You do?"

"It wasn't that long ago," he pointed out with a smirk.

"It was months ago," she replied quietly, speaking just firmly enough to be arguing. "And that was such a small detail."

"Well, I haven't forgotten." He tilted his head towards the door. "You want a tour or what?"

.

They made it as far as the living room.

"God," she noted with an impressed laugh as he came up behind her, "you have some damn good recovery time."

Though she couldn't see the smirk on his face, she knew it was there. "I'm famous for that, in some circles," he murmured softly in her ear. She bit her lip happily, circling her ass slowly around his erection.

Lexie grinned when she heard him groan. She reached back, running her hand through the short hairs on the back of his neck as he stood directly behind her. "Why don't you show me what makes you famous, Dr. Sloan?"

She heard him laugh quietly this time, and the sound made her smile. She hummed happily when he pressed his erection fully against her bare ass. His chin rested on her shoulder a moment later, and his lips grazed her ear as he murmured, "I think you already know what makes me famous, Ms. Grey."

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_Author's Note: Thank you all for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. :) My classes start tomorrow! Wish me luck! And please leave a review with your thoughts :) I'll try and update much quicker next time, if I can._

_PS: I'll be adding a post full of pictures of Mark's apartment onto my LJ. I hope you all can see Mark (and Lexie) there. :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Rating: M, for smut and language

Pairings: Mostly Mark/Lexie, with a couple small slices of Jackson/Lexie

Author's Note: I am SO SORRY for the wait, everyone! I hope you all are still hanging with me—trust me when I say that I've got a lot planned for this story. I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter and will keep coming back when I update. :) Thank you so much!

**Please note**: The italicized section near the end is a flashback to the beginnings of Lexie and Jackson's relationship, around three years ago.

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Mark Sloan groaned aloud when he heard the elevator chirp its incoming arrival. This was the third time he'd attempted to hop in the shower, and each time, he'd been interrupted. First, it was a patient in a crisis, the second had been an old college friend calling to check up, and now… Now someone was _visiting._ He shut his eyes, wrapping the towel he'd just taken off back around his waist. He thought about pulling on a shirt to cover the other half of his body, but he hoped this visitor wouldn't take long.

It was probably someone from the front desk who hadn't been able to get ahold of him—he'd shut his phone off after that second call.

He was shaking his head, running a hand through his hair angrily as he marched toward the front of his apartment. When he looked up to see who the visitor was, he nearly stopped dead in his tracks.

"Hi," Lexie Grey smiled nervously, still standing in the elevator even though the door were open, like she didn't want to step "inside" unless she was invited. _How polite, _Mark thought to himself with a smirk. _What a lady. _As he continued walking towards her, his smirk widened—he knew just how false those thoughts were. She was the antithesis of a proper and refined woman. And he liked that.

He smiled at her arrival—how easy, how simple. He'd informed the doormen and the front desk staff of her existence a few weeks back, so they now let her up to his apartment whenever she stopped by without a question. After her initial visit, where they'd shown off for all of New York's wealthiest to see, she'd visited his apartment multiple times, at all sorts of hours. But she never looked this nervous, nor this out-of-place. Though he knew she was small and thin, she looked downright petite standing there alone, with the expanse of his apartment spread out before her.

It was as he was doing a cursory look-over that he realized other reasons why she looked so strange.

"You're wearing a trench coat," he stated flatly, clutching a towel around his waist as he stopped a few feet before her.

She grinned, nodding. "I am." She knew it was cliché, but she didn't care. She could argue that this thing between them was a little cliché, too, but again, she didn't care. She tried never to think about their situation—that always made it all the more real, and always at times when she wanted it to mean nothing. "Do you want to guess what I'm wearing underneath, Mark?" She wondered, finally stepping off the elevator and listening to it close behind her with a quiet _woosh_.

.

She'd gone shopping. She hadn't been thinking of Mark at the time, but when she realized she'd been perusing through the lingerie section and passing up many things she knew Jackson would've liked, she finally realized she wasn't shopping for her boyfriend. And she wasn't shopping for herself, either.

She was shopping for _him._

The thought had made her freeze when she realized it, and she quickly looked over her shoulder as if others could tell her thoughts. But the only person who met her eyes was a saleswoman—and upon seeing the worry in her dark irises, the woman walked forward. Lexie knew she'd dismiss her the moment she spoke, but when the pretty black girl with curly dark hair asked, "Can I help you find something, miss?" she realized she did need help after all.

"Yeah," Lexie found herself admitting. "I, um, I'm looking for some lingerie."

The woman smiled immediately; obviously this was a department she was well-versed in. "For your boyfriend?" She clarified casually, leading the way deeper into the further recesses of the department.

Lexie felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but she willed herself not to blush. She had nothing to be ashamed for—at least, she had nothing to be ashamed for in front of this stranger who knew nothing about her personal life. "Not… exactly."

The woman raised her eyebrows, politely questioning her. Lexie sighed, and did her best to play the confused almost-girlfriend. Oddly enough, it wasn't too hard to fake. "We're… We're just fooling around right now," she confided in a quiet whisper. Her light blush from before served her well now, as she saw the understanding and sympathy cross the saleswoman's face. "And I wanted to find something to show him…" She paused. What did she want to show him? What kind of message did she want to send Mark besides _Fuck me_? It wasn't as if he hadn't gotten the message, loud at clear. She shouted it at him every time they met, using both her voice and her body. It was so _obvious_. "To show him…"

"That you're something more than just a tail for him to chase?" The woman supplied, seeming to know what she was talking about.

Lexie grimaced. _Not what I'm going for_. "Not… quite. I more want to show him that…" She paused, thinking. "That I'm just as good as the other women he's been with, you know? Or maybe that… I'm…" She bit her lip, but finally admitted, in a whisper and in character, "_better_."

The saleswoman grinned at her, displaying two rows of perfectly straight and perfectly white teeth. "I think I can help you with that," she replied, leading the way towards the back of the store.

Lexie couldn't help but smile, wondering what she would end up leaving with.

.

_Do you want to guess what I'm wearing underneath, Mark?_

Mark Sloan's mind went blank. _No…, _he thought in awe. She couldn't be. She couldn't _possibly_ be naked underneath that coat. It was fall; it was getting cold out. She couldn't be… His eyes trailed up from her feet to her face, and back down again. He stared at her intently, as if trying to see _through _her jacket just by sheer force of will. It didn't work.

She pouted. "Don't want to guess?"

He blinked, but couldn't speak. He wondered if his mouth was hanging open. He tried to remember his name and his birthday, but he could barely recall even that. A woman had just arrived at his door naked.

Mercifully, she didn't tease him any longer. He watched with rapt attention as she reached up to untie the knot she'd belted around her waist. She let either end of the belt dangle beside her legs as she slowly unbuttoned the rest of her coat. His eyes went wide when she pulled it open.

She wasn't naked.

She was something so much better than naked.

"Fucking hell," he breathed, his eyes travelling up and down her frame again. It was encased in a skin-tight, curve-hugging lacey black bra with a matching thong. Her dark brown hair fell in tangled waves, cascading over the accentuated crest of her breasts.

"Do you like it?" She wondered, taking a small step towards him. "Because, if you don't…" A wicked smile turned up her lips. "Well, I can always take it off." She paused, her eyes roaming over his dumbstruck face. She was just about to say something else when he stepped forward, taking her face in his hands and crushing his mouth against hers.

He kissed her so forcefully that she stumbled back, her body falling against the cold metal of the elevator. She didn't even notice when her head hit the same hard surface; she was breathless and dizzy already, and the slight pain hardly mattered.

"Mm," she moaned deeply, feeling a chill run up her body from the cold metal pressed against her mostly bare back. It was a tingling contrast to his scorching heat. Her hands fell from his biceps to his forearms, and she clutched him tight there, gasping, "_Mark,_" when his lips released hers.

"You look fucking _amazing_," he growled, his mouth falling to her neck as he stepped forward to press his hardening erection against her through his thin towel. He could feel her body shudder as he rubbed himself against her. He knew the towel was falling off from around his waist, but he didn't care. He needed her here, now—god, why hadn't she shown up like this before?

"Mark…" She bit her lip so she wouldn't whimper as his fingers snuck up between her thighs. They shoved the drenched, thin panty material aside and circled themselves around her dripping core. She threw her head back as he teased her clit, grunting when it banged against the metal behind her. Her eyes were half-lidded, almost drugged, when they met his.

He let the towel drop completely from his waist, smiling when he saw those same eyes widen as they took him in. Lexie Grey stared blatantly; she just couldn't take her eyes off of him. She swallowed, staring at his massive erection. Somehow he looked bigger than she last remembered. Her mouth watered at the sight of him; thick and hard and demanding her attention, all of it. She shuddered, unable to wait for what he would do to her. She wanted everything he had to give her.

It didn't take him long. His hands reached down and he scooped her up, shoving her roughly against the elevator doors. Lexie didn't even have time to gasp before her body was locked against his and he was pushing his hard cock between her thighs. They both groaned—him cursing aloud in frustration—when they realized there was still a barrier separating them.

Silently, but with commentary from her panting breaths, Mark reached between her thighs to do away with what was stopping them. Lexie didn't know what she was expecting him to do—with her legs hitched up around his waist and crossed over her back as they were, she should have realized that there was no way he could get them off in one piece—but nonetheless, she still gasped in surprise when she heard the sound of ripping fabric. It sounded like a scream in the empty apartment, even amid their pants and sighs. He didn't even bother grunting in apology—he needed her too much right now. He could say he was sorry later, after—

"_FUCK, _yes!" She shouted as he pushed himself deep inside her in one thrust. He didn't even have to wonder if she was wet. Her desire had soaked through the entire fabric of that black scrap of lace she'd apparently been trying to call underwear. He _knew _she was ready. So was he.

"God, you're so wet," he murmured, feeling himself slide in and out of her as easily as if he'd been lubed beforehand. He almost snorted at the thought. As if he'd ever need any help with her. His eyes found her own—closed and most likely rolling into the back of her head with pleasure. "You must've been thinking about me for hours to get like this," he murmured, half to himself, an awed observation.

But she heard. "Mm," she moaned, arching her body up to be closer to him. "God, you have no _idea_, Mark."

Mark Sloan smirked to himself, secretly overjoyed. He hadn't suspected she'd thought about him after she left here. Or after she left the exam room or that bistro's bathroom… He thought about her all the time, of course, but that was different. She was the only woman in his life right now… But he was the second of two men, with the smallest claim to her affections. By most people's standards, he shouldn't even have a place in her head, nonetheless take of the majority of her thoughts. He grinned to himself, pumping into her harder and faster, spurred on by her words. He had a feeling this one would be quick. She was moaning in a constant stream of garbled words now, and his cock was already feeling that delicious tight pleasure of her inner walls squeezing him as they drew closer and closer to that last, blissful spasm. He knew she'd end up coming soon and he, no doubt, would follow right behind her.

"What did you do?" He asked breathlessly, his voice low and gravelly due to exertion. "What'd you do as you thought of me, Lexie?"

She shook her head, moaning as he continued pushing inside her with the same intensity he'd used when they were only communicating through gasps and grunts. "I—couldn't," she groaned, knowing what he was asking. "I couldn't."

"And—why not?" He panted.

"Because… it—_Oh, GOD!—_it wasn't the same." Her hands scratched at his back, urging him closer, deeper; demanding more and more. "It wasn't the same as feeling you inside me." She caught her breath a few seconds later, and added with a grin, "Nothing compares to the real thing," she told him, still panting a bit. Her eyes sparkled. "You should know that. You're the plastic surgeon."

A smirk spread over his face, and he just had time to catch her smiling back at him before he dived down and devoured her mouth with his. Seconds later, when she screeched in competition, he followed right behind her. Their mouths swallowed each others' outbursts, keeping them almost respectably quiet, though they both regretted not hearing the other at their full capacity.

When their respective breaths finally reached an acceptable level, Lexie lifted her head from his sweaty shoulder, found his eyes, and asked, "Why don't we do round two in the bedroom? I think my back needs a break."

He grinned back, and it was more than enough answer for her.

.

She laughed afterwards, looking down at herself after he'd rolled off of her. She was completely naked. They'd left her soaked and soiled panties by the elevator where he'd ripped them off of her, and her bra had followed just as soon as they'd fallen into his bed. She was actually surprised that it had survived the encounter intact. "I have nothing to wear," she laughed.

He eyed her discarded bra at the food of the bed sheepishly, and recalled how he'd ripped her panties to mere shreds. "I can buy you another pair," he told her. "I'm sorry about…"

"Ripping it?" Lexie supplied, looking over at him with a grin. "Don't worry about it." She brought her hand to her chest. "I'm _touched, _actually, Mark." She was teasing, but even so she could hear a certain level of genuine happiness in her voice when she next added, "No one's ever _literally_ ripped my clothes off before."

Mark smirked. "I have a hard time believing that," he told her, nodding towards the ruined garments on the floor. "And to be fair," he added, "you can't really call what you wore here clothes."

Lexie chuckled. "True. And I haven't exactly dressed like that for anyone else before, so I guess it makes sense that this was the first time it had happened."

Mark stared at her, surprised. He wondered if she realized what she'd just said, and what it implied she'd done for him. He shook his head a moment later, wanting to busy himself so she wouldn't question the look on his face. He walked to his dresser, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a couple items.

"Here," he called, tossing them at her. She caught them instinctually, surprise flashing across her face. "Now you have something to wear," he told her, watching as she unfolded the t-shirt and boxers. He listened to her laugh, watching as she pulled the over-sized grey shirt over her bare breasts and tugged the maroon boxers up to her waist. As soon as she was clothed, he wanted her undressed, but he had to admit…

She looked great in his clothes.

Lexie caught him staring at her a few seconds later. "What?" She asked.

"Nothing," he replied immediately. He paused. "I just…" He shrugged; _why not tell her?_ he thought. "I like the way you look in my clothes."

Lexie tried to smile in reply, but it was too hard. Hadn't she had this conversation with someone else?

.

_ She couldn't help but grin when she saw the look on his face. "What?" She demanded to know, crossing her arms over her chest. She could tell _something _was putting him in a good mood, and no matter how much she'd like to dovetail that feeling to what she'd just done with him in bed, she realized—begrudgingly—it had to be something more. "What is it?"_

_ "It's nothing," he replied easily, a smile turning up his lips at her demands._

_ She tilted her head to the side, wordlessly ordering him to spill the beans._

_ He laughed at her attempt. "Fine. You want to know what it is?"_

_ She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please." The corners of her lips turned up mockingly. "Give me the facts, Mr. Big-Shot Lawyer, sir. Break down the case for me."_

_ He put his head in his hands, shaking it. "God, Lexie…," he groaned. But she could hear a laugh behind his melodramatics, and she smirked at his embarrassment. She loved poking fun at him. He was a never-ending font of entertainment._

_ "What?" She grinned, elevating herself to a kneeling position and making her way across the bed to him. She rested her hands on his bare chest, tugging his own hands away from his face. "It's accurate, isn't it?"_

_ He shook his head with an amused smile. "I think I need to actually get a job_ as_ a lawyer before I can be deemed a '_big_-_shot_ lawyer,'" he replied. His mouth turned down in a frown. "Or a lawyer at all."_

_"So?" She countered quickly. She lifted her hands, splaying them over his cheeks. "You're my big-shot lawyer guy, no matter what, job or no job." Her bright smile teased him; she was eager to lighten the mood. It'd been months since he'd started looking for a position, and she knew the job search was starting to weigh rather heavily on him. "And I'm sticking with you… " She smiled. "Since I know you can always get me out of tough jam when I need it," she chuckled, grinning._

_ "Oh," he nodded sagely. "Right. Because that's all I'm good for. Getting your delinquent ass out of jail time."_

_ A smirk turned up her lips before she threw a pointed glance to his waist. "You're good for a few other things, too…" Her eyes sparked with naughtiness. "Don't sell yourself short, now, my friend."_

_ He smirked back, but made no move to capitalize on her innuendo. Instead, his arms wrapped around her back, linking lightly against the worn fabric of one of his old t-shirts she was wearing. "You look good in my clothes," he noted softly, answering her original question._

_ Her eyes sparkled, happy now, as they stared into his. "You think so?" She glanced down at herself for a moment, taking in the faded green t-shirt and blue boxers—both his—that she was currently sporting. 'Good' was not a word she'd use to describe herself… Though she felt flattered that he would._

_ "I do," he replied. He stared into her eyes for a few silent seconds before adding softly, "I think you should wear them more often."_

_ A nervous smile teased on her lips. He wasn't implying what she _thought_ he as implying, was he? Even though she knew it was probably too good to be true, she felt her heart beat a little faster in her chest as she replied, trying to sound as casual as possible, "Well, to do that… I… I think I'd have to spend the night here more often…"_

_ The left corner of his mouth turned up slightly, just a few degrees—he felt like grinning and cheering on the outside as he was on the inside—but he held himself back. It would do no good to scare her away. Not now; not this early. Not ever._

_ "Then spend the night here more often," he replied quietly, meeting her surprised, happy eyes for a couple seconds before lowering his mouth to hers. Her hands clutched at his neck and his back, and as she fell backwards against the bed with a joyous laugh, she pulled him with her._

.

"Lexie?" A pair of fingers snapped in her face. "Lexie?"

She shook her head, coming back to the present. "Sorry," she smiled apologetically. "I just spaced out for a moment."

Mark nodded, but kept his eyes trained on her. He tried not to be too concerned when he saw the way she hung her head, tried not to care when the dark wall of her hair separated them. He knew she was beginning to regret things between them, and, he was beginning to realize, he couldn't let that happen. Save for that one summer in high school, she was now the longest "relationship" he'd ever been in—not that he would let himself call it that. What he had with her wasn't a relationship. And why should he give two fucks if she called it off?

He blinked, thinking clearly to convince himself: _I. Don't. Care._

After a long, silent minute, though, he couldn't help but ask, "You okay?"

A quick smile stretched across her face as she jumped to her feet. "No, actually," she replied lightly, getting out of bed. "I'm starving." She laughed briefly, heading to the door quicker than he could believe. "So I think I should be going…"

"I can make us something," he blurted. He cursed himself internally a second later, but he was forced to stick to his guns on the outside since she was staring at him now. "I mean, I—I'm hungry, as well…" He tipped his head towards the kitchen. "I was going to make something for myself; if you're hungry, too…"

"Yeah, sure," she murmured quietly.

He could tell she was reluctant to accept. And he _knew _he was pushing the boundaries of their pseudo-relationship. …But she'd said yes.

_No, she'd said 'Yeah, sure.' Like she didn't care._

He took a breath to gain control of himself. It was just one meal after a few bouts of exhausting sex. It didn't mean anything. "And I know it's late, and all you have to wear is a trench coat…" He smirked, happily noting that she did, too. "So you can take my car home later."

She frowned immediately at that. "Your car?" She repeated. "No, I can't drive your—"

"It's a hired car," Mark interrupted with a smile. "You don't need to _drive _it anywhere."

"Oh," Lexie murmured, having not realized what he was talking about. She would love to decline, but she didn't want to think about trying to make her way home across half of Manhattan, nearly naked, in the middle of the night. She accepted his charity without a word, though she promised them both that she'd repay him as soon as she could.

Mark couldn't let the silence hang between them any longer. "So," he called abruptly, trying to clear his head. "What do you like to eat?"

.

"You're good at this," she commented a couple minutes later, observing him shuffle a couple different pans on the stove and in the oven as she sat on the island's counter behind him. The marble top was cold against the tops of her thighs where they were left uncovered. She could even feel the chill of the stone through his boxers. She swung her legs back and forth off the side, smiling as he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Where'd you learn to cook?"

"Life," he replied shortly, as if it was a stupid question.

She smiled, shaking her head. "Not everyone can cook like that," she nodded at him as he turned back to the pans. "I can't, for instance. I suck at cooking." She paused, tilting her head as she thought. "You two have that in common, actually," she murmured to herself after a second.

"Me and who?" Mark asked, distracted, as he bent down to check the chicken in the oven. When she didn't immediately answer, he asked again, smirking, "Who is this that's on par with my renowned cooking skills?" When he finally had a chance to turn around and look at her, Lexie was staring at her feet. It wasn't until after she'd replied that he realized the stupid point that he'd pressed. Of course it would be _him._

"Jackson," she replied. "My boyfriend," she added a moment later, as if that needed to be said. "You and him are both good cooks."

Mark bit back hit reply, something snarky about how she knew to pick them, and instead simply turned back to the stove without a word. Lexie swung her legs back and forth, back and forth. They didn't speak until the food was ready, and even after that, all that came out of her mouth was a soft 'thank you' when she accepted the plate he put before her.

.

A little under an hour later, after their dinners were eaten and their plates cleared, the two stood awkwardly before each other. Mark licked his lips, wondering why things were uncomfortable this time. It didn't make any sense. They never had awkward silences. Or, if they did, they were quickly turned into opportunities for fucking.

_That's what I should be doing now_, he realized, wanting to smack his own head for being so dense _Fucking her. That's what we're both here for, isn't it? Fucking? _He'd passed up an enormous opportunity before, while they were waiting for dinner to heat up and she was sitting on the counter. He could've had her spread bare on that marble island in seconds, and made her come again just in time for dinner. He cursed himself at the missed opportunity. That would've eased a lot of the tension. _It still could, _he thought to himself.

Mark was just about to step forward and make a move, but she seemed to have sensed that coming—or she merely picked the wrong moment—for she quickly whispered, "It's late. I should probably get going."

He bit his tongue so he wouldn't call her back as she stepped away. "Sure. See you around."

She gave him a small, secretive smile as she left. What it was for, he didn't know. She touched his arm as she walked past him. "Thank you for dinner, Mark." She hesitated in front of him, and then reached up to kiss his cheek. "And for the car," she added, kissing that same cheek again. "And…" Her lips turned up just slightly. "Well, for everything else, too."

"I think dinner—at _least_—deserves a blowjob, not a kiss on the cheek," he called as she walked away.

Lexie couldn't help but snicker. She looked over her shoulder, grabbing her coat from where she'd left it in a pile in the entryway. "I've got to go," she reminded him. Her eyes danced with mischief. "But maybe some other time…"

"I sure hope so."

She threw him one last smile before stepping onto the waiting elevator. He held her gaze until the door separated them, and then he looked down, sighing slowly through his nose. He lifted both hands to his face, rubbing away the tiredness and confusion that he knew resided there. He glanced over to the counter, realizing that they'd left a couple of glasses and napkins there. He figured it was better to get all the cleaning done now. After he'd washed the glasses, he snatched the napkins off the counter to throw them in the trash.

He was about to crumple them in his fist when her realized there was writing on one of them. He unfolded in carefully, looking down at the words in surprise.

_Call me when you want me_ was scribbled on what he remembered to be his napkin. The message was followed by a series of numbers. Her phone number.

.

Lexie Grey couldn't help but hold her breath as she slid into the back of the sedan waiting outside his apartment building. When the door was shut behind her, she released the breath she'd been holding, and while she waited for the driver to take his place behind the wheel, she buckled her seatbelt. Her hands slowed as they ran over the smooth leather interior. Lexie Grey had never been in such a nice car.

Actually, she'd been in anything this nice—or even _around_ anything this nice—at any point in her entire life before she'd met Mark. She kept a smile to herself. If they were doing anything else besides fucking, she might've thought he was spoiling her.

Though, she realized a moment later, he might not take it like that at all. He practically had money to burn; what did it matter that she borrowed his hired car for an hour or so? Little did he know it was one of the most exciting thing she'd done in months, maybe years.

"Where to, ma'am?"

Lexie smiled to herself at the way the driver addressed her, and she caught his eye in the rearview mirror as she recited her address. She watched the surprise flicker over his face when she didn't immediately list a high-rent area, but neither of them commented. She was quietly shocked at how young he was. She would've wondered if he was even old enough to drive, but the finesse with which he moved the car along the crowded and unpredictable New York City streets spoke to years of experience behind the wheel. "You don't have to call me '_ma'am_,'" she told him after a minute or so of silent travel. She met his eye in the mirror. "I don't mean to assume, but you are a driver, so I get the feeling you and I come from the same world." She paused a moment, gesturing to the high-rises around them. "_Not _this one."

She smiled when he smiled. He had a warm, friendly smile. She tried not to smirk when she thought of what his and Mark's relationship was like. "Yes," Ryan answered with a relieved-sounding chuckle. "Yes, we do come from the same world. A few neighborhoods apart, but…" He gestured to the interior of the lavish sedan with a free hand. "I certainly don't live like this on a daily basis."

"Nice to know I can find a friend in the driver," Lexie smiled.

Ryan's ears perked up at that. "Oh, so you'll be back, then?" He wondered impulsively, interested. He'd never been tasked with driving the same woman home more than once from Dr. Sloan's apartment. He couldn't imagine how anything had changed in recent months.

A few seconds later, he realized his faux pas, and hurried to excuse himself. "E—Excuse me, ma'am," he stuttered nervously, "I—I didn't mean to presume—"

"First," Lexie interrupted, "_stop_ calling me 'ma'am.' Now it's just getting weird. And second," she added, "you're right. My relationship with Mark has nothing to do with you. You have no reason to ask."

"Yes, ma'a…" The driver swallowed. "Yes," he answered finally. He bit his tongue as they rode through the rest of the city streets in silence. He wondered if he should tell her that she shouldn't address Dr. Sloan so familiarly—as 'Mark'—unless she wanted to advertise their personal relationship. It was fine if they'd discussed it, of course… But if she wanted to continue pretending to have a platonic relationship with him, she'd better learn the rules. No one called him Mark unless they'd spent the night with him. And even so… Most of the bimbos he'd been with still called him 'Dr. Sloan.'

As they were pulling up by her apartment building, he couldn't keep quiet anymore. She was just stepping up onto the curb when Ryan rolled down his window to speak to her. "Hey!" He called out to her, realizing that he didn't even know her name.

The woman turned around slowly, looking wary and as if she was braced for anything. He smiled at her to reassure her, but he wasn't sure how well it worked.

"I'd like to give you some advice, if I could."

She eyed him for a moment before glancing over her shoulder. When she deemed them appropriately alone, she nodded once and stepped forward to take his advice. "And what is that?" She wondered, loitering a few feet from the idling car.

"I don't know who you are, Ms.…"

"Grey," she supplied. She paused a moment before admitting, "Lexie."

He smiled, nodding. "Lexie. Look," he continued seriously a moment later, "like I said, I don't know who you are. And I don't pretend to understand your relationship with Dr. Sloan."

"There's no reason for you to understand it," Lexie interrupted, defensive. I_ don't even understand it. And I doubt he does, either._

"I'm not saying there's a reason for me to understand it," Ryan replied patiently. "But I _am_ saying that, if you want to continue pretending like there's nothing going on between you two, you really shouldn't call him by his first name."

Lexie stared at him, shocked that he would notice such a thing and be able to deduce so much from it. She licked her lips a moment later, gathering herself. "I—I won't, then," she managed. "Thank you."

The driver gave her a soft smile before nodding and calling, "Have a good night, Lexie."

_I already have._ Lexie bit her tongue so that answer wouldn't come out. She eyed the driver for a moment, before final wondering, "You have a good night, too, um…?"

"Ryan," the kid supplied with an easy smile.

"You have a good night, too, Ryan," she told him, unable not to smile back. Ryan had the infectious charm of a child; she suspected he made everyone smile just by catching their eye… Especially the women he was interested in. Lexie smirked to herself as she turned away and took out the keys to her apartment's street-level door. If she were five years younger… _And far less romantically entangled, _part of her added, frowning at her current situation. Lexie sighed to herself as she climbed the stairs.

Like always, she'd put off dealing with the Mark situation for another day.

Or, she corrected with a rueful smile, the _Dr. Sloan_ situation, as that was what she was apparently supposed to call him to avoid suspicion. She sighed, climbing the stairs. She _would_ deal with it. She'd make it right, call this thing between them off, confess everything to Jackson…

_Yes, sure, Lexie. _Part of her—the majority of her—snorted in derision._ You'll do all those things. First thing tomorrow, right? Bright and early?_

.

Mark Sloan was lying awake in bed when it hit him.

He'd nearly asked her to stay the night.

He'd cooked her dinner, given her a ride home… He'd acted like she was his… his _girlfriend, _or something. He stared at the ceiling of his apartment in shock, late that night, as he realized this. He knew at once he wouldn't be allowed to continue acting like this. She'd conceded to him this time, yes, but the next…?

He wasn't permitted to play games with her, not when she was the one who made the rulebook.

And besides, since when did he want to play this game anyway? He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for sleep so he wouldn't have to think about this anymore. He berated himself for being such an idiot and doing something as stupid as making dinner for her. That was a ludicrous move.

He went to sleep decreeing that it would be _just sex _from now on.

Just as he was about to fall under, though, he realized there was already a problem with that mandate. By ordering that their relationship would contain nothing more than sex, he was suggesting that there had been, at one time, something _more _than sex between them.

And that wasn't the case. It really wasn't. They were all sex, all of the time.

Things between them had _always_ been about fucking, about getting off; then they'd both move on until the urge surfaced in one of them again. But now… Mark sighed, raising a hand to cover his eyes. Now, suddenly, things weren't as clear as they were a few weeks ago.

Why did he cook for her? He'd never cooked for any of his one-night-stands before. He'd given them rides home, yes, that was nothing out of the ordinary, just a means to get them out of his apartment as quick as possible. But with her… He'd actually been a bit sad to see her go.

_No,_ he coached himself, _he _was not sad to see her go. His cock was sad to be deprived of her pussy. And that was it.

Mark Sloan didn't sleep much that night. Tossing and turning didn't help. All he wanted to do was call her, now that he had her number… But that happened to be the only off-limits thing in his very hands-on world.

.

Lexie Grey's phone _beep_ed just as she reached her apartment's landing. She opened the waiting messaged, noted that it was from her boyfriend, and read it.

_Hey, where are you?_

_ At the door, _she typed back quickly. She hit 'send,' and then reached for her keys to open the door. Just as she was stepping inside, she saw Jackson come out of the bedroom on the far side of the room, covering his mouth with a hand as it opened wide

"Hey, babe," he yawned sleepily. She could see the tiredness in his eyes when he blinked at her. "Where'd you go?"

"I was at the store," she answered, throwing a quick smile his way as she locked up behind her.

"Oh yeah? What'd you have to get this late?" He wondered. "Couldn't it have waited 'til morning?"

"Not… exactly," Lexie replied, grimacing at the lock as she twisted it into place and desperately tried to come up with a concrete answer. She hoped he wouldn't notice that she didn't have any shopping bags in her hands. But apparently he wasn't too interested in fact checking, because a moment later, she felt him come up behind her and wrap his arms around her middle.

"I've missed you, Grey," he mumbled into her ear, resting his chin lightly on her left shoulder.

Lexie couldn't stop a small smile from sprouting on her lips at his words. He used to call her by her last name when they'd first started dating. She reached back, cupping the back of his neck with her fingers, and whispered, "I've missed you, too, Avery."

"I'm sorry I've been at work so late these past couple days," he apologized quietly. His warm breath passed by her cheek and ear, and when she closed her eyes, she felt enveloped in his warmth. Those memories from one of their first nights together floated into her mind again, just as they had earlier in the night. She smiled as she remembered them, remembered how happy they were together.

She blinked her eyes open a second later. _'Days?' _She thought, feeling half of her mouth twist down into a deep frown. _It's been months, not days, Jackson._ She almost said so aloud, but something held her back. Even as she continued holding her tongue, she realized it was a perfect opportunity. She could point out all the time they spent apart, they would discuss ways to fix it, and then…

But she didn't do any of that. Instead, she turned around in his arms, gave him a sad smile, and then tipped her head toward the bedroom. "Come on," she murmured, stepping away and holding out her hand for his. "Let's go to bed." She forced a smile. "Big day tomorrow, right?"

The ghost of a smirk passed over his exhausted face. "Every day's a big day, Lex."

"Then you need your sleep." She tugged on his hand. "Come on, babe."

He followed after her obediently, collapsing onto the bed as she quickly changed out of her clothes and into pajamas. She hoped he wouldn't notice what she was wearing, and, thankfully, he didn't. It was only as she settled into bed beside him that he opened his eyes and seemed to remember that she was there. He reached out a hand, cupping her cheek lightly as he blinked at her. "What'd you have to get at the store?" He asked softly, staring at her with those green eyes she'd always loved gazing into.

She felt uneasy looking into his eyes now, but luckily, an uncontestable answer came to her mind immediately. "Tampons," she replied. She shrugged with a sheepish smile. "You know, time of the month and everything."

"Right," Jackson replied automatically, nearly cutting her off in his haste to close the subject. From the slightly tense expression on his face, Lexie knew he didn't want to have any part of this conversation. They both quickly dropped it. She tried not to feel relieved.

It wasn't until later, long after he'd fallen asleep and she was still awake, that Lexie Grey realized that that lie—whether it was consciously put forward or not—had succeeded in keeping her boyfriend from sleeping with her during the next couple of days. She tried not to think about the idea that that might be some sort of sign. No, she shook her head and directed her thoughts elsewhere.

Seconds later, her thoughts were consumed with something else, someone else. She knew she should hate herself for it, but before she'd even fallen asleep, she'd already made plans in her mind to see Mark again… and to throw his clothes in a dumpster so Jackson wouldn't find them.

.

_Author's Note: Thank you all SO MUCH for sticking with me through this slump period I've been having over the last month with this story. I apologize for taking so long to update; I hope after this chapter that things will come more easily and naturally where this story is concerned. Again, thank you for reading._

_Leaving a review below would be such a delicious cherry on top of this wonderful day. :) Thank you!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

A note to anoan "beckaswan"" Thank you SO much! I was so flattered by your review on the last chapter, oh my god! Thank you so much! I hope you love this chapter just like the last one! :)

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews on chapter six! I am pleased to present the next installment…_

_Warning:__ This chapter is rated **M**, and the setting is… questionable. Please proceed at your own risk. (And don't blast me afterwards with hate if you don't like it, that would be nice.)_

.

Mark Sloan had expected one of his receptionists to be on the other side of the line when his phone rang fifteen minutes after his lunch break ended. He'd been taking a long time to get back to work—he'd gone out to eat today and was now walking back to the office—and he knew, eventually, someone would have to call and bring him back in. He debated about answering, but eventually he put the phone to his ear. He wished he had the privilege of wondering, _What if it's an emergency? _before answering a call from his practice.

But in his specified line of work, it rarely was.

"Hello?"

"Mark?"

Mark Sloan stopped walking, his eyebrows pulling together at the hushed, whispery voice on the other side of the phone. It didn't sound like either of his receptionists, Beth or Hannah. "Who is this?" He wondered warily, feeling like an idiot to be conspicuously looking over his shoulder as if the whispery voice was following him on the street, too.

"It's Lexie."

Mark Sloan immediately stood up straighter as she announced herself, and his ears perked at the sound of her voice. He quickly moved to the right side of the sidewalk, leaning against the building as he spoke to her. "Lexie? Why are you whispering?"

"I'm at work."

Mark couldn't help but grin to himself. His mind was already in the gutter by the street. _But, _he thought with a widening smirk, _isn't that where it always is anyway?_ "You are?" He wondered aloud, not even bothering to hide the suggestion in his voice.

"Are you busy now?" She asked immediately, not bothering to field his question.

"I…" Mark bit his tongue. He'd been on the verge to say he was heading back to work, but then he heard that tone in her voice… "No," he replied. I'm not."

He could hear her quiet exhale of relief. "Good," she told him a half-second later. They each waited a beat for her to propose something. As always, she didn't waste any time. "Do you know where Lincoln Elementary School is?"

Mark felt his throat run dry. _No… _She wasn't proposing what he though she was proposing, was she? She couldn't be. She wouldn't. …_Would she?_ "I do," he heard himself saying. It was far, clear across down, but if he hopped in cab and flashed the right amount of cash, he could be there in just under twenty minutes.

"If you come in the main doors, I'm the third door on the right. Tell the front desk that you're here to see me, and knock before you come into the classroom."

Mark licked his lips, trying to come up with an appropriate response. But there was nothing appropriate about this situation. "Okay," he managed after a few silent seconds.

"Third door on the right," she told him again.

"Third door on the right," he repeated, thankful that he had the building beside him to lean against. If he didn't have that cold stone's support, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stay on his feet. His mind was already swimming, his thoughts frenzied and wild.

"And Mark?" She asked, her voice quieter now.

He couldn't help but lower his too, even though there were few passersby, and none of them close enough to eavesdrop. "Yeah?"

"Hurry, please." He could hear the urgency in her voice even through the phone. He shut his eyes, imagining her clenching her thighs together to ward off the unquenchable desire lighting up her body. He could already feel his lower half come alive at the thought. It had only been a couple days since they'd last seen each other, but obviously that was too long—for both of them.

"I'll be there as quick as I can," he replied. He hung up, crossing the sidewalk to the streetside as he dialed a new number. A familiar voice picked up on the second ring.

"Manhattan Plastic Surgery, East 23rd Street, how many I help you?"

"Hey, Beth," Mark answered, keeping his voice purposefully strained as he spoke. It wasn't hard to do. "You know, I'm not feeling too hot this afternoon…"

"Oh, no," his receptionist replied, sounding concerned.

"Yeah," Mark replied with a groan, grimacing as if she were there to see him. "I'm pretty sure it was something I ate at lunch. I was going to take an hour or so off, just to be safe, but if you guys need me at the practice right away—"

"Dr. Sloan," the receptionist interrupted. "If you're sick, go home. Take the day off. We'll reschedule things with the patients and see you when you're better."

Mark grinned at how easy that had been—easier than he'd ever dreamed. He said goodbye, and was hanging up his phone as he hopped into the backseat of the taxi he'd hailed partway through the conversation.

.

Lexie Grey couldn't stop tapping her foot. Her eyes roamed the sea of students in front of her, all diligently working on their spelling quizzes. Her eyes shifted to the clock on the wall. One more minute until recess. Sixty seconds. She closed her eyes, smiling faintly. She couldn't remember ever looking forward to recess so much in her entire life.

When the bell finally rang, cheers went up in the room as tens of thundering feet led the way to the door. Lexie felt like cheering herself, but she held back, getting to her feet and herding the group outside before shutting the door. When she was alone—finally—she leaned against the wooden door and let out a sigh of relief. She didn't know how much longer she could take of this. Moreover, she didn't know why it was so bad to today, why she needed him so much _today_. Lexie Grey squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of this day in relation to all the others.

Ever since she'd given him her phone number two weeks ago, it'd been like this. First, it was just once. (It was always just once.) And then it was a second time. And a third. And a fourth, fifth… And each time it happened, the time between their meetings shortened. She could hardly believe it had only been two days since she'd last showed up at his apartment at two in the morning. She'd stood in the threshold of his apartment, looked into his eyes as she helplessly uttered the words, "I just needed you." …As if they were an explanation for her unannounced arrival, or a justification for her damnable actions.

But it was clear from the way he'd responded to her impulsive visit that he didn't care for explanations or justifications. He took her to bed immediately—or, more accurately, to the main hallway's floor immediately—and proved that he desired her just as she desired him. And that was precisely the way she wanted it. They would call each other when the mood struck, they would get off on each other when the mood struck—that was how it had always been—but recently, Lexie couldn't help but think that things had started to change. She didn't know what was happening exactly—or even if anything really _was _happening—but all she knew was that she was starting to feel different when they were together. Of course, it wasn't enough for her to call things off. Far from it. It seemed she had started to crave that strange, new feeling he elicited in her, for that way the only reason to explain why their meetings had grown more and more frequent.

A knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts and memories, and Lexie nearly jumped at the sound. A second later, she was pulling open the door and smiling when she found him standing there in the hallway. She didn't even bother trying to control her expression; she just let the relief wash over her face without a care. She couldn't remember ever being happier to see any one person in her entire life.

Not wasting even one of her precious few seconds she had without that gaggle of third-graders following behind her, Lexie took his hand and pulled him out into the hall after her. "Come with me," she whispered under her breath, leading the way down the empty hall way to an equally empty supply closet at the end of the strip of doors.

She could hear him asking her things—namely, "Where the hell are we going, Lexie?"—but she didn't waste her breath by answering. She closed her eyes when her hand found the metal doorknob of the small closet. She tried to relax when she exhaled and opened it, but all it felt like was that someone had lit a match beneath the tinderbox of her desire and now the fire was raging, hot and hungry within her. There would be no relaxation for a long time, she knew. She had to quench this fire now, and fast.

She moved a couple buckets in front of the door to act as a barrier as she pulled it closed behind them—though she knew it wouldn't work, it was at least worth a try. She knew she didn't have much time, and her body screamed at the realization of how little time she really did have when she checked her watch. Strung up and tight as was, Lexie Grey nearly felt like crying when she realized that there was no way in hell they'd both be able to get off quickly enough and quietly enough before she had to run back to work. They wouldn't have enough time; they weren't even close.

As her body protested the wait and pleaded for release, a thought entered Lexie's mind. When she turned around to face Mark, a grin was taking shape on her face.

.

"What are you—" Mark Sloan couldn't even get the words out before she shoved him towards the shelves behind them. In the limited space, she barely had to take a step before they were within each others' arms' length. The supplies on the shelf rattled and a few paintbrushes fell to the floor, but neither took any notice.

Mark could see the hunger, the pure want and lust, entering her eyes and he knew this was one of those moments where nothing would get between Lexie and what she wanted. If he wasn't so entranced by her, so unbelievably turned on, he might've smiled. He might've made a joke. And he might've realized—yet again—how strangely alike they were.

But she had him in her grasp, literally and figuratively, and he could do nothing but stare down at her in awe as her fingers made quick work of the button and zipper on his pants. Before he could even utter a word, she'd pulled them and his boxer briefs down past his thighs, letting his cock fly free. He muttered a low curse word when her small—but apparently knowledgeable—hands closed around him. In just a few strokes, he was hard and ready; he almost came when she finally addressed him.

"I believe I promised you a blowjob, Dr. Sloan."

Mark felt his entire mind go blank when she said those words. He almost swayed a bit, and he was thankful that he'd been holding onto the metal shelving behind them with an iron grip. The shelf wouldn't let him fall. Hopefully.

Lexie was grinning up at him like she knew exactly what he was dealing with when he next looked over at her. "And I've been holding out on you for weeks, haven't I?" She wondered aloud. "That wasn't very nice of me, was it?"

"You…" Mark closed his eyes, trying to think. He couldn't focus when he had to stare into those hot, wanting eyes of hers. It didn't matter. When he opened his eyes again, she was lowering herself to her knees before him, her hands and eyes never leaving his cock. His entire body was clenched in anticipation, just waited for her red lips and wet mouth to descend on him, to suck him into oblivion.

"I feel dirty," he couldn't help but tell her as she situated herself below him. "So…" He groaned when her tongue flickered out to tease him. "dirty…"

"And doesn't feeling dirty feel _so _good?" she asked, just before gripping his cock firmly and licking up the underside.

"Lexie," he groaned, his hands scrambling for a firmer handhold. He felt like he was about two seconds away from coming already. He wondered how they'd never done this before, wondered how he'd gone so long without her beautiful mouth enveloping him. "The kids—"

"They're at recess," she whispered. She paused, fisting his erection again while she looked up at him. "Now Mark," she began seriously, never taking his hands off of his cock. "We have about fifteen minutes before a hundred kids come storming past this door. I'm sure that at least _one_ teacher will come in here once they're all gone to get more crafts or art supplies for the kids." Her eyes glinted saucily in the dark room, like she was challenging him when she asked, "Do you want whoever stops in to find me here, down on my knees, with my lips wrapped around your cock?"

Mark had to hold himself back from answering immediately. This whole situation was like some incredibly fucked-up version of truth or dare, and he couldn't get enough of it. When he finally had control of himself enough to speak again, Mark had to refrain from saying yes, too, for he found that he loved the thought of someone walking in as he fucked Lexie's pretty mouth. He'd be lying if he said the 'someone' he imagined wasn't her boyfriend. "No," he answered finally, struggling to do even that much.

She smiled, and kissed his tip as a reward. "Good." She licked the pre-cum off her lips without a word; the casual way she did it made him leak even more. "Is there anything you'd like to say to me that I'll have to reply to?" She asked, running her hands over him again. "Because I think my mouth will be quite full for the next fifteen minutes."

He stared at her in awe for about twenty whole seconds before replying, his voice hoarse with want, "You are so fucking sexy, Lexie."

She grinned in reply, and her bright smile was like a beacon of light in the dark room. "Thank you," she whispered in repsonse, just before taking him deep into her mouth.

.

He didn't last long.

With her swirling tongue, sucking mouth, and firm fingers, it was clear from the beginning he wouldn't be able to hold out very long. But it came as a surprise even to Mark himself when he finally let go, deep in her throat. He hadn't even had time to warn her, but she didn't flinch away when his semen spilled into her open mouth. She swallowed it all immediately, as if by instinct, and he tried not to think about why or how she'd cultivated that particular instinct over the years. It was better that he didn't think about it. It was all so much better that he didn't think about it, about _him_, about that other man in her life.

He squeezed his eyes shut so he would heed his own directive, and forced his mind to other places.

Now, if it had been anyone but her giving him a blowjob, Mark realized that he would've probably been embarrassed at how quickly he'd come. In fact, when she finally let him go, and the both of them stared into each other's eyes while they panted loudly in the small room as they attempted to come back to earth, he wondered why he wasn't embarrassed. How was she any different from all the other girls he'd fucked?

He'd slept with taken women before. He'd slept with brunettes, he'd slept with teachers, he'd slept with slim girls. _So how was she any different? _Why_ was she different?_

Before he could even answer his own question, he was literally begging her for more. "Please," he groaned, pulling her to her feet after they'd had enough time to catch their breath. "I need to be inside you." His lips moved towards hers without even a thought. "Lexie, please."

But she held him back with two hands on his chest and a sad smile on her face. "And I need to have you inside me," she replied, a small smile turning up her lips. "_Trust_ me," she whispered softly, and the suggestion in her voice didn't go unnoticed. "But… we can't." She broke the news as sadly, as solemnly, as one might inform a close friend of family death. "I have to go, Mark."

"Lexie—" Without thinking, he reached for her arm, pulling her back against him. Their eyes locked as their chests brushed against each other's with heavy breaths. Mark swallowed, not knowing what to say. He knew part of their unspoken agreement was that neither asked for more if the other was done. Neither pushed the other. But today…

He needed her today. He needed to have her, needed to be inside her, needed to be with her. He needed so much more than these quick, dirty trysts in darkened, cramped rooms. He'd had enough of that.

But he had no idea how to tell her.

"Wait for me," she whispered, seeing the strife in his eyes. "One hour, Mark, and then we can leave and go back to my place and do this properly. Just one hour. I promise."

He nodded immediately, grateful for the plan. A second later, his mind caught up with him and he stared at her in shock. "_Your _place?" He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. Though he'd liked the idea of her boyfriend walking on them before, that was a fantasy. If they went back to her place, there was a very good chance it could turn into reality. And he knew none of them were prepared for that. "But won't your boyfriend—"

She shook her head. "He's an associate at a law firm. He's never home, especially not at this time."

"Lexie…" He took a breath. "We… We can just go to my apartment, you know."

She shook her head, determined now. "No. Neither of us can wait that long for the drive uptown. I'm just a couple blocks away." She smiled, trying to convince him. "We can even run there."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Lexie… Are you sure you want me in your house?"

She held her tongue, unwilling to admit that she wanted him _everywhere._ "Yes." She stepped forward, holding his gaze as she stretched her legs to bring herself to his level. Their lips met softly for once, moving together in a simple, slow rhythm. She flashed him a quick, happy smile before pulling back and stepping away. She quickly straightened her shirt, making sure it was still fully tucked into her skirt. "One hour," she whispered, almost like a warning. He nodded; eager now. She was offering, and as horny as he was now, he wasn't going to turn her down. Surroundings be damned—she'd just sucked him off in an elementary school. If she wanted to fuck in the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, he'd do it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered if there was anything he _wouldn't _do for her.

"Just sit out by the lobby and I'll meet you there," she told him. "If anyone bothers you, say you have an appointment with me."

A smile flashed onto Mark's face as he immediately recalled their first encounter. "'Appointment?'" He grinned. "Is that officially the code word now?"

Lexie couldn't help but smile back, teasing, "Well, what do you want to call it?"

He leaned forward to kiss her, pressing his lips fully against hers for a short moment. "Best sex I've had in years," he replied honestly, not even bothering to censor himself.

A cautious, almost curious smile spread over her lips in the darkness when she heard him say that. She reached out blindly for his hand, squeezing it. She was unable to come to terms with what his words meant to her—and she wasn't sure if it was because he'd just overwhelmed her with the spontaneity of his response or if it was because she honestly didn't know what to say. She couldn't remember the last time Jackson had said something like that about her, not to mention anyone else. She blinked, biting the inside of her lip. Maybe Jackson had never said it to her because it wasn't true and he didn't want to lie. That thought hurt, but not as much as the realization that she was cheating on him because of it.

Lexie took a breath and squeezed his hand again for quick second before dropping it. "Meet me in an hour," she whispered, heading for the exit.

Just as she was about to pull the door open, he asked from the other side of the room, "How will I find you? With all the people leaving the school, I might not spot you…"

Lexie smiled to herself, leaning for forehead against the wooden doorway. She didn't know why his concern over finding her made her smile, but it did. After a second, she caught his eyes over her shoulder. "Oh, I'll be easy to spot," she replied in a soft whisper. "I think anyone could spot the want on my face when I see for you." She smiled one last time whispering, "Just look for that," before opening the door and disappearing into the hallway.

Five minutes later, when the stampede of kids came storming back into the school, Mark looked over his shoulder from his place on one of the benches in the lobby. From where he sat, he could see her standing outside her classroom's door, third down on the right, and he watched as she shepherded each and every member of her young class back into the room. When she stepped forward to shut the door, her eyes met his, and for a split-second before the wood barrier separated them, he could've sworn he'd never seen anyone look happier than she did with that giddy smile on her face

.

_Author's Note__: Reviews would be greatly appreciated. I don't consider myself very adept (at all) when it comes to oral sex, so I'm interested to hear your guys' thoughts on that part of the chapter and everything else._

_Thank you for reading. I will try and update again as soon as I can. :)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

_Author's Note__: Thank you all for the reviews in the last chapter. I know it was kind of shocking, but I'm glad none of you took it badly. This one is just as scandalous, so be prepared._

_Pairing:__ Mark/Lexie, Lexie/Jackson_

_Rating_**_: M, for graphic sexual scenes and some dirty language_**

_Summary:__ "My boyfriend would kill me if he were here right now."_

_Please enjoy! ;)_

.

"Yes, yes, YES!" Lexie's shouts reverberated in the small, cramped room with every thrust of his cock inside her. She knew she sounded like a whore, but she couldn't bring herself to care. What he was giving her was too good, too intense, to remain unvocalized. "Oooh, God! _Mark_!"

Dr. Mark Sloan's grunts mixed in with her moans, but he was too focused on fucking her as hard as he could to bother with real words. Each time he pushed himself inside her, it felt deeper and rougher than the last—exactly what she was crying out for.

"Harder," she begged, her hands and legs clutching his body as close as possible for maximum penetration. "Oh, harder, _please—_" Her voice was choked off in a high-pitched scream, and when her back arched off the bed, he knew his work was done.

Still, he continued pounding into her. She whimpered at each thrust he pushed into her body—for a few seconds he was half-worried he was hurting her—but her moans and needy cries drove him on. He grinned when he realized he could draw out a second orgasm for her if he could keep up this pace for long enough without coming himself.

"I'm close… So close… Again, Mark… Oh, please… _Please…_" He'd rendered her nearly incoherent in her own bed, and he couldn't be prouder. He grinned as she babbled nonsensically beneath him, her nails clawing at his back, forever asking for more. And he was willing to give it—willing to give anything she wanted. Something about the setting made him insatiable today, so he was happy she seemed just as needy.

He'd taken her hard up against the front door the second they'd arrived—like a dog would mark its territory to ward off trespassers—and he hadn't stopped in his merciless assault of her since. The frail wooden fixture she called a front door could barely stand their frenzied coupling; it could be heard shaking and slamming every time he pushed his cock up inside her dripping slit. She'd been soaking wet the second he'd hefted her into his arms. He was thankful she'd worn a skirt—he simply pushed it up past her waist, shoved her underwear aside, and took her like the desperate man he knew he was. She grunted and moaned the entire time, and the only coherent words that left her mouth were 'Mark' and 'more.'

The doorway had been quick—just sating that haunting need they'd both had since she'd called him earlier that afternoon—but the rest was more drawn-out. Even though her apartment was small, and the bedroom wasn't too far away, they didn't make it there by the time she started tearing through his clothes again. He ended up on his back on the floor with her straddling him, her hair and clothes in disarray. Shoving her hands underneath his scrub shirt, she pushed it up past his pecs and then ran her hands all over his sculpted torso. He was struggling to maneuver her body above his as she pressed kisses down the center of his chest. She whined when he slid beneath her, since her lips could no longer meet his toned skin, but he grinned, whispering hoarsely, "Just wait."

She was in the middle of protesting loudly, wondering what she was waiting for when he angled his hips beneath her and thrust up, impaling her body on top of his. The scream she let out was practically blood curdling, but he didn't care—and he hoped no one else would, either. They couldn't afford an interruption of a worried neighbor. But Lexie barely seemed to notice. Within seconds, she was riding up, pushing her body and down on his thick pole, moaning for 'more, more, _more!_' When she started cupping her breasts through her shirt and tweaking her nipples through the fabric of her bra to get herself off, he knew he was done. He shot himself inside her like a cannon about half a minute later, with a near-animalistic roar escaping from somewhere deep in his body. She collapsed on top of him, her pussy clenching and milking him for all he was worth.

The bedroom came after that, though they did have to lie on the old wooden floor of Lexie's apartment for a good ten minutes before either of them could get up. Mark smirked when he saw how shakily she stood on her weak legs; she had to place a hand on the wall for support. He hiked his pants up to his waist momentarily as he stood, and then allowed her to lead them towards the back of the apartment. Mark couldn't keep that smug grin off his face the entire time.

He loved thinking of the fact that he was fucking her in her own home, in her own bed—a place only her sad excuse for a boyfriend was supposed to occupy. It took away some of the fun not to have him here, bursting in, hearing her moan and scream from the pleasure he was giving her, but Mark knew the second that happened, this thing between them would be over. They were having an affair, not a relationship. And he was more than fine with that.

He grinned now, minutes later, and plunged his cock deeper inside her. Again and again, he pushed himself into her tight channel—harder and deeper and rougher each time. He made sure to graze her clit as he withdrew, and he swelled with pride at the earth-shattering scream she gave when she finally came. He could hear her voice starting to go hoarse by then. He quickly followed her, finally, off the brink, grinning madly to himself. God damn it, he loved sleeping with taken women. He loved illicit sex. It was so much better than the mundane run-of-the-mill one-night-stands, for the thrill was enormous: the boyfriend could walk in at any time, see his girlfriend being fucked senseless by another—_better_—man. That simple fact turned Mark on more than he knew was healthy, or that he would ever admit aloud. There was a reason he didn't do relationships. He loved the danger and unpredictability of flings like this. They made him harder faster and longer than any always-willing and always-waiting girlfriend might.

"God," Lexie panted a few minutes later, grinning, after they'd both fallen back against the sheets, "that was…"

"Unexpected?" Mark offered, smirking as he glanced over to her.

Lexie couldn't help but smile back. She wanted to ask him what had gotten into him, but it was clear what had changed. Just being here, in her apartment that she shared with her boyfriend, had ramped up his competitiveness to a level she didn't even know had existed. And she had thought the jealousy from before was something… Lexie Grey bit her lip, holding back a smile, and wondered how horrible of a person she was for preying on his masculine competitiveness.

As the two lay in silence for a while afterwards, Mark couldn't help but wonder if she thought of _him_ while they fucked. He wondered if she was comparing notes, and what the results were. Even though he knew he would never be the one found wanting, Mark couldn't help himself form going the extra mile earlier; he couldn't help himself from stopping until she cried out in ecstasy and her body clenched his in completion. He liked to think that it was his subconscious driving him so hard to please her—or some ancient mating instinct—but when the thoughts surfaced in his mind even after he'd pulled out of her, it was clear those urges were nothing short of conscious. Intentional, even. With every touch of his hands, kiss of his lips, and thrust of his body inside hers, he had been bent on getting the message across: _I'm better._

From the way she moaned and screamed his name as he took her that day, he knew she agreed. For the time being, at least.

.

.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Mark's forehead creased at the question, and he turned his head to look over at her. "What?" He asked, confused. This was the first time either of them had said anything in the past twenty minutes.

"Have you ever been in love?" Lexie repeated, vocalizing each word clearly.

Mark didn't know why that question made his heart beat faster. He licked his suddenly dry lips and wondered, "Why are you asking me that, Lexie?"

"Because I want a second opinion," she replied.

"On… what?" Mark swallowed heavily. Why did it feel like his organs were trying to escape through his esophagus?

She didn't reply. Silence fell between them for a few seconds before she asked again, just as suddenly as the first time, "You know when you meet someone and you know immediately—just from looking at them—that you're meant to be together?" She'd been staring at the ceiling when she asked, but now she turned on her side, still naked, and looked into his eyes. "Do you know what I'm talking about? Have you ever experienced that?"

Mark didn't know what to say. Multiple times, he'd thought he was in love. Once or twice, he'd even gone so far as to say it, but either to recipient of his feelings had laughed in his face or quietly replied that she didn't—_couldn't_—feel the same. That had been over a decade and a half ago, and since then he'd learned to keep his feelings close to the chest—if he even had feelings for women at all, that is. Which he usually didn't.

But this question was coming from Lexie, and that fact alone made her different from all the rest. Though they were just having sex, it already felt like so much more than that to Mark. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how to explain it—he just _knew it_. He couldn't help wondering if her question had a double meaning, her words a loaded agenda. Before he could think of an appropriate reply, though, one that would let her know enough without knowing too much, she was talking again. And what she said reminded him why he hadn't had feelings for women in fifteen-plus years—he was never the one they truly wanted.

"That's how it was with Jackson," she continued, oblivious to the thought raging in his head and the storm brewing in his eyes. "We were at a bar—I was with some girlfriends and he was with a couple of his college buddies; he'd just graduated… I saw him, and it was like this connection, you know? It was like in the movies; instantaneous. I saw him and I wanted him and I just _knew…_ we were supposed to be together." He could hear her laugh slightly, and he could detect the joy in that laugh even though he tried to bury the sound and everything it meant.

Mark stayed silent when she paused, not wanting to believe that he'd been able to identify with nearly everything she'd just said… about another man.

"But with you…" Mark's ears perked here, and he had to hold himself still, had to force himself to act indifferent. "When I saw you, Mark, all of that went away. I forgot it, or it just didn't matter anymore…" He watched out of the corner of his eye as she traced winding patterns over the sweat-damped sheets. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. _What is she saying? _"I don't know why that happened, but I've been trying to figure it out…" She shook her head, her voice falling away. It took all of Mark's willpower not to stare at her in slack-jawed amazement. _What is she saying?_ He wondered again. The question screamed desperately inside his mind, though he knew he couldn't ask it aloud. He watched as a light blush colored her cheeks before she admitted, "I wanted you to touch my breasts that first time not to tell me how small they were, I…" She swallowed, finally lifted her eyes to his. "I just wanted your hands on me, Mark." His eyes searched hers, open wide, as she added in a whisper, "I saw the way you looked at me and… and I wanted your appreciation. I wanted to feel your hands on me. I wanted you."

_Instantaneously? _Mark thought but didn't ask. After a second, a smirk spread over his face and he reached towards her, covering her small breast with his large hand. "You got quite a bit more than just my hands," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. It hardened immediately.

She smiled, and placed her hand atop his. She gestured for him to squeeze her breast, and he did so. She sighed happily, pressing her chest closer to him. Her breasts heaved in his hands when she inhaled. He could still remember how wonderfully soft and smooth her supple flesh had felt in his hands that first time. It still felt exactly the same.

"I have a confession for you," Lexie whispered, sliding closer to him across the soiled sheets. Mark met her eyes, his hand still on her breast. He tried to slow the wild beating of his heart. His mouth went dry when she took his other hand and placed it on her unattended breast.

"Con…" He cleared his throat. "Confession?" He wondered, trying to sound as casual as possible. His mind was racing beneath what he hoped was a calm exterior.

She nodded, biting her lip and she looked up at him form underneath her lashes. He wondered briefly if he knew just how sexy she looked doing those sorts of things. "I… I can't say I wasn't dreaming of having you bend me over that exam table that first time and fuck the senses out of me," she admitted quickly with a half-embarrassed smile.

His eyebrows shot up. Though that hadn't been what he was expected at all, it still made him happy. "Really?" He wondered, interested. His tone turned salacious. "Bent over the exam table…" He whispered, lowering his tone to dirty up the already foul words.

"Stop it," she muttered, smacking his chest lightly.

He rolled over, covering her body with his as he braced himself with his hands and knees. He knew she didn't really want him to stop. "Tell me, Lexie," he whispered, his hot breath in her ear, "Did think about me locking the door after I told your boyfriend to leave? Did you hope I'd order you to take off your pants?" She whimpered softly in reply, and he pushed further, "Did you think about slowly stripping off your sweater and tank top, and tossing your bra away just like you did that first time—did you think about _teasing _me like that, Lexie?"

"Mark," she whispered, shifting beneath him.

He smiled when she clenched her thighs together and attempted to shift around on the ruined bedspread. He could already smell the renewed scent of sex in the air. "What'd you think of, Lexie? Me taking you hard and fast from behind, pounding your body into the table with every thrust? Did you think about how good it would feel to have my hard cock buried deep in your sweet pussy?"

"Mark, please," she whimpered.

He bent down, drawing her breasts into his mouth and licking her perked nipples thoroughly. "Did you get all hot and bothered as I was sitting in front of you, Lexie? Did your panties get wet when I squeezed your tits and rubbed your nipples?" He grinned. "Oh, wait, I already know the answer to that one: They did."

"Mark," she whispered, begging now. "Please—"

"What?"

"Fuck me."

He smiled, his body covering hers. "You should swear more often. Bad words sound so good coming from your pretty little mouth." His smile spread into a smug grin, and he was just bending forward to kiss her when another voice called out into the small apartment.

"Lex?" Jackson Avery's voice floated out from what sounded like the front door. "You home?"

Mark only had a split second to register the shock and fear on her face before he was shoved away. She was already scrambling to her feet by the time his back hit the mattress. "One second," she called, loud enough to be heard on the other side of the apartment.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath a second later, practically sprinting to the closet door on the other side of the bed. "Shit, shit, _shit!_" She snagged the bathrobe that hung on her bedroom door, quickly knotting it around her waist. When she threw one quick glance to Mark, she was filled with relief to see that he was already struggling into his clothes. She'd never be more grateful that they'd decided to keep the mess in the bedroom—if they'd left it all in the front room, the two of them would be dead meat the second Jackson stepped inside.

"I'll distract him," Lexie whispered under her breath. "You leave the second you can," she ordered. Mark didn't even have time to nod before she'd disappeared, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. It hid him from view, but stayed open enough so it wouldn't make a sound when he slipped out. If he ever got the chance to slip out.

Lexie smiled hurriedly when she saw her boyfriend standing on the far end of the hallway, in the kitchen. He looked like he'd been walking towards the bedroom, and she was relieved that she'd made it out before he'd started to step inside. "Hey, babe," she called, walking quickly away from the bedroom to meet him in the kitchen. Her ears strained for any sound that would give Mark's presence away, but thankfully, he was keeping quiet. "What are you doing home already?" The hoped the nervous tremor stayed out of her voice. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her robe to hide the fact that they were shaking.

"Court ended early," he replied, pulling of his shoulder bag and letting it fall on the kitchen countertop. He studied her for a moment, a smile curving up his lips at the simple pleasure of seeing her during the daytime. "What's going on?" His eyes travelled over her robe and dry hair. "Were you about to get in the shower?"

"I—I was," Lexie replied. She only thought of it as a half-lie. She _had _been hoping she and Mark might make it to the shower together before he had to leave. The heat grew on her cheeks just at the thought. "But I…" Her mind raced; she knew she had to think of a quick way out of this. "I missed you," she finished lamely, trying to sound wistful.

It worked. He grinned. "You did?" He wondered, reaching up and loosening his tie.

She bit her lip. She should have never gotten involved with a man on his way to a law career. Men in suits—Jackson, especially—did things to her. Even knowing Mark was in the other room, she felt her core heat up again as she looked at her boyfriend. He was so handsome, never more so than when dressed for work. She could recall numerous occasions where she'd made him late because she'd laid in bed watching him dress—and couldn't help but take those clothes off all over again. She wondered briefly what Mark would look like in a suit, but dismissed it. She didn't need to compare the two. This wasn't a competition. And anyway, she liked him in his scrubs. The color nearly matched his eyes, and the way they sometimes seemed to strain around his muscles… Plus, they were so easy to remove. Undressing Jackson was a whole ordeal—it took minutes, not seconds—but it never, ever failed to turn her on.

He walked forward now, and wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands fell almost automatically to her ass, and she couldn't help but giggle. He bent towards her to kiss her softly. "Were you thinking of me?" He wondered, guessing at her answer.

She smiled. "Why don't you tell me?"

He grinned, trailing a hand up her thigh and under her robe. She was wet already and he couldn't help but tease her a bit with his fingers.

She couldn't help but gasp at the light penetration, after all the intense stimulation she'd gotten this afternoon. It seemed like the littlest thing could set her off now. "Jackson," she whispered, gripping his forearms.

His hand fell away immediately. "What?" He wondered. "You okay?" He whispered, kissing her again.

She nodded. "Yeah." She rested her head against her chest, and he kissed the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around his waist and for a few minutes they stood in silence. "Do you wanna take a shower with me?" She asked finally, her voice subdued.

"I thought you'd never ask," he grinned, pulling back.

She was about to lead the way towards the bathroom when he took off in a different direction. Her heart began beating like a jackhammer in her chest as he neared their bedroom door. "What—What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to sound hysterical. She didn't think she pulled it off, but what did it matter? Mark was on the other side; she couldn't let him walk in there. It didn't matter that she sounded insane, as long as she kept those two apart. _Oh, god; oh, god; oh—_

"I have to hang the suit up," he replied over his shoulder with a smile.

She tried to ignore her rapid heartbeat and struggled to keep her voice level as he neared the door. "Jackson—"

"Lex, it'll take two minutes." He smirked. He turned towards her, saying, "Look, I love you, Grey, and I _really _love it when you want me like this, but you can wait two minutes, baby."

She rushed forward, pulling at his arm, directing him towards the bathroom just a few feet away. "But I—I don't want you to hang it up."

He stared at her, a smile playing on her lips. "This is a four-hundred dollar suit, Lex. I'm not going to leave it in a pile on the bathroom floor."

She grinned at him, and replied as seductively as she could manage under the circumstances, "You will if you want me to rip it off you, Jackson Avery."

His resolve disappeared at that, and his mouth bent to meet hers as they made their way towards the bathroom. "You'll be buying me a new one," he murmured, struggling to open the bathroom door and continue making out with her at the same time.

Lexie couldn't help but laugh. "With my enormous public school teacher's salary? Yes, of course, dear."

He grinned, throwing open the door stepping forward. "Show me a good time and I won't bill you, sweetheart."

"Show _me_ a good time and I won't _leave _you," she shot back.

He grinned, laughing at her threat, but the joking had fallen by the wayside for Lexie. She forced herself not to look over his shoulder as he backed her towards the shower—she was too scared she'd see Mark as he snuck out. So she reached up for her boyfriend, kissed him deeply, and tried to remember a time when he was all she had. A time when he was all she wanted.

She almost couldn't fathom life without Mark these days, but one day—and most likely sooner rather than later—they both would have to move on. She'd go back to Jackson, and he'd find another, prettier patient to have his fun with.

_But you aren't that, _a voice whispered in her head even as she tried to ignore it. _You aren't just another patient, not to him. _She shoved the thought away, certain it was a lie, certain her own mind was trying to poison her with hope. She knew she was the same as all the others—maybe even worse. With the way he looked, and his profession, who was to say that he couldn't get any woman he wanted? She would bet he slept with supermodels on a regular basis. He'd forget about her the second he found someone better, and it was time she accepted that.

She wasn't anything special.

.

Mark Sloan tried not to care when he heard her moan her boyfriend's name. He tried not to care when she gasped, tried not to hear the quiet way he chuckled in return. He sat on their bed, laced his fingers through his hair, and tried to remember the noises she'd made when _he'd _fucked her.

Certainly she was louder when he'd been inside her. She was more passionate. She was uninhibited. She was _different _from the way she sounded with him… Wasn't she?

"Jackson…"

Mark couldn't help himself. His hands shifted from his hair to covering his ears. It blocked out her moans, but it didn't stop them from haunting him. _Jackson, Jackson, Jackson…_ Mark Sloan suddenly wanted to kill that man. He knew he had no right to feel that way. He had no right to be jealous. By all accounts, he shouldn't _care_… But he did. God, he cared so much.

His jealousy burst into flame and transformed into rage, and suddenly he hated her. He hated her and her boyfriend and he hated himself. How dare she fuck him where she knew he could hear? Didn't she know that _his _was the only cock that was allowed to be inside her, since it was the only one that could truly satisfy her? Didn't she know that her pussy belonged to his cock, and that meant that _she, _in turn, belong to _him _and _only _him? Why didn't she _understand _that?

Mark Sloan jumped to his feet, literally shaking his anger. He couldn't believe himself. He couldn't believe what he was thinking. What the hell was fucking _wrong _with him? He had no right to make those sorts of claims to her. He had no right to feel like she was _his_, he had no right to feel any of it.

But none of that stopped him from claiming her as his, if only in his mind for the time being.

He walked to the door, pulling it carefully open and stepped out, before he gave into his rage and started smashing things. He kept his gaze straight ahead as he passed by their bathroom—it took all his willpower for Mark not to let himself turn his head to the left, to see her in the throes of passion…with another man. He ignored the urge with great difficulty; he knew if he followed it, he'd end up breaking that asshole's skull against their tiled bathroom wall and claiming her as his, once and for all, over her boyfriend's dead body.

He almost ran to the door. What the fuck was happening to him? He had never been like this with a woman before. He had never felt so territorial, so jealous, so… so _betrayed_.

He sat on the top stair once he'd left their apartment, interlocked his fingers behind his head, and admitted it to himself. He felt territorial of her. He felt jealous of her boyfriend. And he… He felt betrayed when she fucked that boyfriend instead of him, as irrational as it was.

He had never once thought he'd harbored any feelings besides those of lust towards her. He had never wanted to do anything except fuck her until she screamed and cried, take a quick break, and then do it again, but today… Today had made him realize there was something else. He should have realized it the second they'd arrived—when he'd taken her up against their front door like she was a bitch in heat and he wanted to give her pups—that he was being territorial. He had claimed her as his in so many ways today that he had nearly lost track. Doing it in their bed afterwards had just been an extension of that, such a fucking hot extension, and he was genuinely surprised he'd kept himself from coming as long as he had. He knew if her boyfriend hadn't come home early, they would've fucked in her shower, too. He hated the idea that he hadn't had the chance to christen that space as theirs… not to mention the fact that he knew exactly what she and her boyfriend were doing in there at this exact moment.

He was just jealous. He knew that from the beginning. He'd known it all along, but he hated to admit it—because it made him weak. It made him putty in her hands. It gave her all the power, and he hated being without power. And betrayal, of course, went hand in hand with jealousy in these types of situations… Just never for Mark Sloan.

He had never felt betrayed like this in his entire life. He'd been part betrayer—he'd played that part many, many times—but he'd never been betrayed _himself_. And he'd been jealous before. Gorgeous women came to his practice every day, and once in a while he saw their boyfriends or spouses, too… And at times, he'd been jealous of those men. But he'd never felt _betrayed _when those women had walked off with their significant others. They hadn't been doing anything with him. And even the women he _had_ been sleeping with—those that were two-timing their spouses—he hadn't cared, either. He had his fun with them, and then let them go back to having fun with their husbands, and if they called him again—great. But he didn't care when he knew they spent the night taking their husband to bed. Even once or twice, when he'd seen it with his own eyes—he'd only been amused. And he'd silently congratulated those men for finally gaining some sense and some balls to fuck the beauties they had in front of them.

But with Lexie… He wasn't in a relationship with her; he knew that. But what he had with her also wasn't just an affair, either. It couldn't be. He… As much as Mark hated to admit it, he couldn't take it if that's all this thing between was. As weak as he knew he was for admitting it, he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer if he didn't get anything more than semi-frequent access to her body.

That wasn't to say he didn't like fucking her—he loved fucking her. He _loved _it. He used to think he wouldn't give that up for anything. But it was becoming clear now that he might not have a choice. He couldn't keep fucking her and then sending her home to _him._ Not after he knew that they really were—willingly and happily—having sex with each other. He couldn't take that.

He preferred absent Jackson. He preferred uninvolved Jackson. At least then he could fuck her and not worry about him. He could fuck her hard and hot and long, knowing she wouldn't be getting it anywhere else. He could fuck her 'til he couldn't breathe, fuck her 'til she begged for him to stop, and then keep fucking her regardless. She never complained and she always came back for more.

Mark screwed his eyes shut, getting to his feet and forcing his eyes open as he made his way down the rickety staircase. When he pushed open the front door and stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun, he felt like running. Running far, running away, running until he forgot about her.

But he knew that would never happen. He'd never forget about her.

So instead, he bit the inside of cheek hard, stepped out into the street, and hailed an incoming taxi. He could run later. Right now, he needed to get as far away from Lexie Grey and her goddamn boyfriend as possible. He was shaking again as he sat in the cab, and he knew it was mostly due to that unfulfilled need that gnawed at him—to kill her boyfriend and to finally claim her, all of her, as his own.

He knew he'd have to settle for exhausting his body in the gym all afternoon. There was nowhere he could run, and no way to escape her.

.

.

.

When she showed up at his apartment a week later, her hair wet from the rain she'd walked through to meet him and her legs fidgeting beneath her in need, he knew nothing had changed from the way it was before—at least not for her. And so he played his part. He took her to bed again, just like he did every time, and though it felt more formulaic and mechanic this time, he didn't let that get to him. He simply buried himself in her body and thought of those first few early times, and how there used to be nothing that he cared about than filling her tight body with his.

Even as he refused to acknowledge the change between them or its consequences, he found himself wondering in the back of his mind when things had started to shift between the two of them. Soon after, he even started to think about her—started to wonder if she felt the change, too. But he knew it didn't matter if she felt it. The real question was, did she care?

Every time she left, it was clear in her body language, her voice, her mannerisms—it was clear in her entire _being_—that she didn't want him in the way he was quickly coming to realize he wanted her. It was clear that she didn't care.

Mark Sloan told himself it didn't matter. He'd find another girl. Another patient, another socialite; it didn't matter. He'd find _someone_.

He ignored the part of him that railed against that future, the part that argued vehemently and angrily that no one would match up to her. Ever.

.

_Author's Note: Reviews about this angst-ridden chapter would be fantastic. I cannot wait for you all to read the next installment; it's my favorite chapter out of the whole story._

_Please leave your thoughts below, my lovely followers! :)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

_Author's Note__: I have a real thing for dirty talk. You've been warned._

_Rating__:** M, for GRAPHIC sex (and I mean GRAPHIC), as well as VERY dirty and mature language. Proceed at your own risk.**_

_Summary:__ "My boyfriend would kill me if he were here right now."_

.

.

Lexie Grey knew he was angry. After all the time they'd spent together, she'd figured out how to tell that he was hiding something beneath the surface. He seemed to have been doing it a lot these past few weeks, and even though she hadn't known what hew as keeping to himself before that afternoon in her apartment, it was abundantly clear what he wasn't saying now.

She had tried multiple times to break the ice, but none of them ever worked. He never let her get through her explanations, cutting her off with a 'I understand' or a 'Why should I care?' Each and every time Lexie sighed softly to herself. He was lying to her, but she had to reason to call him out on it. She hoped the truth would come out when he was comfortable, but it seemed that every time she saw him, he was madder than the last time. His anger always stayed hidden, but she could feel it lurking underneath the surface. It tainted everything they did together, which, admittedly, wasn't more than casual sex these days.

Though Lexie would never admit it out loud—and she could barely even admit it to herself—she was slowly realizing that she missed him. She missed talking to him and joking and laughing. She thought of that dinner he'd cooked her many times as she ate alone in her apartment. She couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of her… or if he'd already moved onto another girl.

Maybe that's why he'd lost interest. Maybe it had nothing to do with what had happened that fall afternoon. Maybe he'd simply gotten sick of her. Just thinking of that made Lexie's stomach clench in fear. Without realizing she'd even done so, she made a promise to make more of an effort.

Part of her—the part that was first to remember Jackson after hours of forgetting—wanted to know what the hell she was doing. She didn't have to make an effort. They weren't in a relationship. If things fall apart, they fall apart.

But even so, she knew she couldn't let that happen. She just didn't think she was capable of losing Mark, no matter the consequences. In fact, she didn't even want to _think _about the consequences—all that mattered right now was that she kept him nearby. She had struggled through weeks without him in the beginning… Now she could barely survive a day without seeing him, being with him.

She tried never to think about what that meant—_if _it meant anything at all, that was, which Lexie knew it didn't. Couldn't.

.

.

"Ugh." A deep groan came from somewhere in the back of Mark Sloan's throat as he lifted a hand to cover his eyes. "Why are you doing that, Lexie?"

Lexie Grey couldn't help but grin, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt that she'd put on a few minutes ago. It was getting colder and colder outside, and despite the heat in his apartment, she still wasn't able to walk around completely naked without shivering. "What?" She wondered innocently, hoping to draw out their teasing banter for a little while longer. "This?" It felt like it had been so long since they'd joked with each other. She was suddenly determined not to let this encounter fail in that regard.

"You're wearing my shirt," Mark replied, as if she hadn't known. He sighed unhappily, his hand falling back to his side as he glared at her. "It's turning me on, but I'm too tired to fuck you in it."

She laughed quietly, shifting her weight as she stood beside the bed. "Old man," she smirked. "I'm over here ready to go, and there you are, dead as a doornail."

He grunted, annoyed, but a moment later he turned his head towards her, wondering guiltily, "You're really ready to go?"

She smiled at his concern, doing her best not to love hearing that tone in his voice. "Don't worry about it." She reached down to grab her panties from the floor. "I can wait." She was just bending down to pull the little thong up between her legs when his hand stopped her. Her eyes found his, and when they did, she felt electricity light up her body.

"Come here," he murmured, and she tried not to think too hard about why his dark, commanding murmur aroused her so. Nonetheless, she did as he asked. Lexie supposed she should have seen this coming, but nonetheless, her eyes widened when she saw his head leaning towards the junction of her thighs.

"Mark…," she whispered when his tongue snuck out to taste her. She could feel that first touch spread through her body like an electric shock. The pleasure nearly froze her in place. "Oh, Mark…"

He didn't say a word, but even so she could feel his response in the way his tongue dove inside her. If her throat wasn't already sore from their last bout between the sheets, she was sure she would've cried out at full volume. As it was, all she managed was a weak whimper. She could feel his hands caressing her thighs, and she knew soon those wonderfully talented fingers would be inside her, too. Just that thought made her weak in the knees, made her wobble.

"I'm… I'm going to fall," she gasped out, after having had to grip his shoulders tightly for balance.

Mark Sloan smiled, proud of himself. It had taken just mere minutes for her to grow lightheaded. He wondered if that was a record; it sure felt like it. But then again, everything felt like a record with her… even after what had happened on that afternoon they'd rarely spoken of since it happened. Momentarily removing his mouth from her sweet center, he murmured gravelly, "Then lie down." She did so, and Mark found himself enjoying looking up at her like this even more than he had a minute ago. He loved watched her breasts expand when she heaved in a breath, loved watching how they strained at the confines of his shirt that she wore. He loved knowing that he could drive her so crazy she couldn't catch her breath.

He tried not to remember that someone else could do that to her, too.

.

Afterwards, she sat up and took off his shirt, knowing he probably wouldn't want her to stay around. He was being quiet again, and she figured this was her cue to leave. She readied herself in silence, taking care not to meet his eyes. She hated seeing that dead look in them whenever she left; she couldn't help wondering who he was thinking of while he waited for her to get out.

To her surprise, just as she was reaching for her socks and shoes, he spoke. It was one simple word, whispered, but it made more of a difference than any other word could have. It stopped Lexie in her tracks, nearly stopped her breath, and sent her mind spinning.

"Stay."

Her head snapped over to his, shocked. He had never, _ever_ asked her to stay. Especially not after what had happened in her apartment. He knew asking such things was off-limits, and she knew she was in no position to accept… No matter how much she might want to. "I—I—I…" She swallowed, trying to think of the only plausible answer under pressure. "Mark, I have a boyfriend."

"It's just one night." He sat up in bed, and from the way he continued talking, she knew he was serious. She felt her chest constrict, felt her pulse race. She wasn't allowed to stay. She knew that. He knew that. But still, he was arguing for her… and she wanted so badly to accept. "Come on, Lex," he goaded. "It's Friday night. He's still working or else asleep by now, and you don't have work tomorrow." He tilted his head at her, wondering in that quiet way of his that always made her think too much, "Wouldn't you rather stay in bed with me?"

Her mouth fell open to speak, to reply, to answer with a resounding _YES!_, but before she could, his tone had turned hard and accusing. As quick as the flick of a switch, he was angry at her again. Everything inside her deflated; she should've known he'd never be anything but mad at her. She should've known that they'd never be more than sex… no matter how much she was missing those old days.

"At least when I'm too tired to fuck you properly," he snapped furiously at her, "I still do you the courtesy of getting you off with my—"

"Don't you dare try to compare yourself to him," Lexie whispered. Her voice was hushed, but serious and almost scary in its quietness. Mark could tell if he pressed the issue, she'd be shouting and leaving in seconds. And he couldn't risk that. "Don't you ever do that."

Mark sighed. He'd crossed a line, he knew. _Rule #1: Don't talk about the boyfriend. _"Sorry," he muttered.

She waved a hand at him, and he wondered if she'd ever take his apologies seriously. He stared at her, standing tall and beautiful in front of him, and wondered if she'd ever take _him_ seriously. …Or would he always just be a nice, convenient cock for her? Would he ever be more than that to her?

He hadn't wanted to admit it at the start, but it was becoming rapidly clear that wanted something more than that. He wasn't sure he wanted a relationship with her—he didn't eve know how to _do _that—but he was sure enough about his intentions towards her to know that he wanted to be the only one she got naked with.

_Do you wanna take a shower with me?_

He tried not to let his blood boil at the thought. He had tried not to care at the time, but jealousy had risen up in him like water behind a dam—and his name was breaking, piece by piece. One day it would shatter, he knew, and the flootgates would open. It was like she'd forgotten who she'd just fucked. Like she'd forgotten how he'd pounded her into the mattress, forgotten how he'd rendered her incoherent, forgotten _everything _between them_…_

He couldn't stop himself.

"You knew I was in your room when you started fucking him." Mark spoke quietly, but he looked into her eyes—and he saw the fear there. No doubt she'd been frightened of that possibility, and now here he was, throwing it in her face. "I heard you and him. You _knew _I could hear."

"You—" She swallowed, and he could see the tendons in her throat strain. "You should've left."

He ignored that. "I never told you what that did to me, did I?"

She closed her eyes. This is what she'd been waiting for. For months since that afternoon, she'd waited for him to explode… Well, now it was hear. Lexie bit her lip, both devastated and confused when she felt her eyes prick with tears. All she wanted was to crawl back into bed with him and forget about everything else. "Mark," she whispered, wishing it was still possible.

"You moaned his name. I could hear it. I sat on that bed—the bed _I _fucked you on—and I heard you moaning his name ten feet away. You want to know what I wanted to do?"

Lexie didn't reply, didn't blink, didn't move.

"I wanted to kill him." Mark said it so quietly, so seriously, it took her breath away and nearly stopped her heart. He stared at her all the while, never blinking. "Yeah," he repeated softly, "I wanted to kill him, nice and slow, just because he was the one that was inside you and not me."

"But—" Lexie cleared her throat so her voice wouldn't shake. "You left."

"_Yes, I did!_" Mark suddenly shouted, making her physically jump in place in shock. He'd never yelled at her before. No one had yelled at her in years. But here he was—on his feet, color rising up his neck, and murder alight in his eyes. "I did leave, Lexie! _I. Left._"

She stared at him in shock, her mouth hanging open as he shoved his suffering, his judgment in her face… and she felt the anger light up inside her, too. What right did he have to say these things? What right did he have to be angry, to make her feel even more terrible? She already knew she'd made a mistake, damn it, but that didn't matter! It couldn't matter, for there had been no other option at the time! She had to distract Jackson, and she did it. _He should be thanking me, god damn it. I saved his ass. Jackson would've killed him._ The anger rumbled inside her, and soon all she could do was stoop to his level and shout back. "What are you yelling at me for?" She demanded, incensed. "Do you have any idea what I did for you, how I made sure _you _got out without being spotted?" She paused a second to suck in a breath, barely giving him a chance to interrupt. "What are you fucking complaining about?" She screamed, her arms thrown wide. "I saved your ass! He would've killed you of—"

"He wouldn't dare touch me," Mark cut in, his voice low and dangerous.

Lexie pursed her lips angrily, putting her hands on her hips and trying to think of the hardest hit she could send his way. "_So. What?_" She growled a moment later, ignoring his threatening comment. "He's my boyfriend." She shrugged theatrically. "So we fuck. _Big deal._ So I say his name when his cock's in me, who—"

"You should only ever be saying _my _name," Mark growled, stepped closer and narrowing the already miniscule space between the two of them, "because _my _cock should be the only one inside you. _Ever_." His eyes sparkled with anger, and though she knew he was serious as a heart attack, she couldn't help but sputter, amused, at his request. It was so ridiculous on paper, so ludicrous at the first hearing, that Lexie couldn't help but laugh for a half-second. And that was all it took. She saw the rage pass over his face, and then his lips slammed onto hers, devouring her mouth and starting in on everything else attached to it.

Lexie moaned immediately—or it might've been a strangled scream, but he took it for a moan—and he reached for her automatically, yanking her body up against his with such force he knew he'd never used with a woman before. One hand slipped under her jeans and the other tangled in her hair, forcing her body right up against his own and leaving them without any room to breathe. She bit his lip hard when he shoved his fingers up inside her, and he pulled his mouth back, panting, desperate for oxygen. He could taste blood on his tongue from where her teeth had sunk into the thin flesh of his lower lip so violently they'd broken the skin. He grinned.

"You're wet," he told her, boasting the fact as he swirled his fingers inside her. Her entire core was soaked, and he basked in it, victorious.

Her face contorted in some kind of infuriated expression just before she shoved him away with both hands. She pushed him so brutally that he fell back against the bed with an audible _thump, _and for a second, he thought he'd be lying there to watch her walk away… But a moment later, she was kneeling above him, straddling him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The adrenaline from their fight was roaring through his veins, and yet all he could think about was being inside her again. He didn't care about fighting. He didn't care about the boyfriend. He. Just. Wanted. _Her_.

Mark could feel her calves pressed tight against her waist, and his hands immediately reached down to cup the backs of her upper thighs. She was so fucking sexy when she straddled him like this. He fought the urge to shut his eyes and enjoy the moment—she'd destroy him for it—and he already knew this was a battle he would forever have a handicap in.

"I bet you're _so_ hard," she cooed, bending over him and slipping her hands beneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. He hissed when her fingers closed around him, none too gentle. "Ah," she smiled. "Just like always." Her smile widened to a patronizing grin. "You're so _easy_, Mark."

He laid back and let her stroke him for a minute—lulling her into a false sense of security—and then he bucked up his hips to knock her off balance. Shock only had time to flit across her face for a split-second before he'd reached up and flipped them over. He didn't waste time hovering above her—he slammed his lips against hers and shoved his hand between her thighs again. His fingers were drenched before he'd even come to her center. He tore his lips from hers, panting, relishing in her sweet, needy whimpers as he pumped a couple fingers inside her. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling on it hard enough to hurt, hard enough to tear the hair from its follicles, but he didn't care. She wanted him so bad she couldn't even speak, and he was going to take advantage of every second of it.

"Fighting turns you on, doesn't it?" He grunted with satisfaction when her whimpers were interrupted by a startled yelp as he flicked at her clit—just once, just to remind her what he could do to her, what he could give her. She gasped for more, and he loved hearing her beg. He bent down close to her, grinning, even as he denied her what she wanted most. "God, I knew you'd love angry sex, you dirty girl. I could see it from a mile away." He pushed another finger inside her, loving feeling how tight she was, watching how her hips arched off the bed to meet him even as she scowled at him and fought her self-discipline to regain the upper hand. "You're such a naughty, naughty girl, Lexie…" He pushed his fingers into her harder, deeper, grinning when she gasped and writhed beneath him as he curled said fingers inside her, driving her wild. "And I _like_ naughty girls." He could swear more of her sweet essence trickled down his hand when he talked dirty to her, and it made his steel cock that much harder. He suddenly wanted to see just how wet he could get her, how far he could push her until she couldn't take any more.

He pulled his fingers out from her without warning, and her subsequent mewls and cries for more were like music to his ears. Slowly, tantalizingly, he licked her juices off his fingers. "So sweet," he murmured, letting his eyes fall closed. He could feel her shifting beneath him, clenching her thighs and trying to create some friction for herself.

He opened his eyes, and found hers half-lidded with uncontrollable desire. "You taste so fucking good," he whispered quietly, staring down at her. "Do you know that, Lexie? Do you know how good you taste?"

She grunted quietly, but didn't reply.

"Do you know how wonderful your pussy is, Lexie? How tight it is?" He sighed happily, grinning when he heard her whimper at his words. "You don't have a cock, so you can't _possibly_ being to understand, but _fuck, _Lexie_… _If I could only slam one pussy for the rest of my life, it'd be yours, hands down." He leaned into her face. "What about you?" He whispered, letting his hot breath fan out over her face. "Would you pick my cock, sweetheart?"

She looked away, but didn't reply. She bucked her hips, searching for it.

"Ah, ah, ah," he muttered, using a hand to push her hips back against the mattress and another to hold her there. "If you want something of mine, you have to ask nicely, Ms. Grey." He paused. "Now, Lexie," he began quietly, getting into her face again, "do you want my big, hard cock in your tight little pussy?"

She whimpered in need, but still didn't answer him with a coherent 'yes' or 'no.'

"I want to hear you say it, Lexie," Mark reminded her patiently, even as his body too was moments away from blowing just due to frustration. "I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you want me." He bent down, still holding her waist in place with a hand, and trailed his cock up and down her slit.

She shouted aloud—whether in arousal or frustration, he didn't know—but still he didn't give in. She tried bucking her hips up off the bed to meet his again and again, but he was always out of reach. Eventually, she gave, up panting, and acquiesced to his demands.

"Yes," she screamed finally. "Yes, I want your cock! Jesus Christ, I want it, I want it so badly, I want _you, _I—_MARK!_" She screeched his name like a banshee when he thrust inside her with all the force he could muster. His body collided into hers so hard that he could feel their hipbones jarring against one another, and he even heard the bed rattle as it hit the wall behind them as he pumped into her. Mark froze immediately upon hearing that sound, upon feeling the bed move beneath them. He couldn't believe it. He'd fucked plenty of women in this bed—_countless_ women… It had never moved.

That only made him want to fuck her harder, which in turn made her shout to wake the dead. He was happy it was storming outside—though he'd have been pleased to know others heard her as well and knew that she was with him. _Knew _that she was _his._

He stared down at her, his vision shortened by arousal and only able to focus on her. It didn't matter—she was all he ever wanted, anyway. God, she was so hot. Squirming beneath him, desperate for his cock and his body but not wanting to admit either… She had never looked better; he had never wanted her more.

"Do you know how sexy you look?" He growled into her ear, after he'd pinned one of her arms above her head. The other she had threaded into his hair. She pulled so hard on grey-brown strands that he thought she was actively trying to tear his hair out by the roots.

She moaned incoherently in reply, not having an answer for his question.

"Lying beneath me, _begging_ for my cock…" He grinned when she glared at him. He leaned down to kiss her, hard, and thrust his tongue into her mouth as he pumped his hips against hers. "Tell me I'm better than him," he ordered when their lips broke. He was breathless and so was she—they were both panting—but he just _had to hear it_. "Tell me," he ordered, growling now, feral as an animal. "Tell me I fuck you better than he does. Tell me you want me more than you want him." His hand squeezed her breast hard. "_Tell _me_, _Lexie. _Now_."

She smirked up at him, finding enough breath to chuckle momentarily before replying, "What? You're _that_ insecure?"

He completely withdrew from her then, and then shoved into her hard, harder than ever, to prove his point. He hoped her subsequent screech didn't drown out his explanation. "No," he told her as she screamed her throat raw, "_No_, Lexie, I'm not insecure. But I want you to fucking _admit it._ Admit that you're tired of him." He pulled her hips up against his before letting them hit the mattress again. "Admit that you want me, that you _need _me." His thumb moved to her clit, and he rubbed in it circles, circles, circles as he pumped inside her. Lexie was certain he was doing so just to drive her insane; she could barely keep her eyes open anymore. Finally leaned down and whispered in her ear, his voice dangerous and wanting and his entire being consumed with lust for her.

"Say my name when you come," he ordered, not for a second pretending to be kind or gentle, "and you'll be admitting all that and more." He sucked in a breath, unable to hold back from what he really wanted to hear, not when they were both so close, "Say my name when you come, Lexie," he panted, struggling in earnest for breath now, "and you'll be mine."

He pinched her clit then—hard—so hard she lost her already raw voice when she screamed. She followed his order and howled his name, loud and long, for all within earshot to hear. And she didn't regret it, not doing it, not what it meant. She never regretted anything when she was with Mark. That was the entire reason she was stuck in this awful mess in the first place.

.

Afterward, he collapsed on top of her, panting. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She tried to remember if he'd ever fucked her like this before—this deeply, this passionately, this _dirtily… _For this long. She remembered mocking him before, but her sarcastic words then had an undeniable ring of truth to them now: He _was_ a god. No one, _no one _had ever given her better sex or better orgasms, or made her as wet as he made her. She craved sex with him all the time—before, she though she'd just craved _sex_, plain and simple—but now she knew she craved it only when she could have it with him. She could still remember that last time with Jackson, and how she'd been left feeling unsatisfied when it was over… And how she'd thought of a certain plastic surgeon when she touched herself later, alone in the bedroom, surrounded by the memories they'd created that afternoon.

"Sorry," Mark muttered when he had his breath and finally rolled off of her.

Lexie didn't know whether he was apologizing for crushing her underneath him after he came or if he was saying he was sorry for fucking her as roughly as he did. She didn't care. And she didn't want him to apologize. He'd just given her the best sex of her entire life. He always gave her the best sex of her entire life, of course, but this last time was mind-blowing. She still couldn't think coherently. "It's okay," she whispered back after a moment.

They laid in silence for a long time after that. Eventually, he broke it by reaching over to brush a few stray locks of her hair behind her ear. She turned towards him when he did so, almost by instinct. She stared into his uncharacteristically tender eyes and wondered what he was going to say, if indeed he chose to say anything. She could feel a trail of heat across her skin from where his fingertips had grazed her flesh as he pushed her dark hair behind her ear. Softly, as lightly as he touched her a second before, he broke the silence.

"You are so beautiful, Lexie," he whispered quietly. His eyes searched hers—looking for what, she didn't know—as he asked aloud, "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

She couldn't help but smile, even as his words shocked her beyond belief. She couldn't remember him every saying something so nice to her—and she hadn't even attempted to prompt him. She had no idea where this was coming from. She didn't care that she was probably supposed to still be mad at him. She didn't care that he'd been so angry with her that he'd fucked her until she bruised. He was looking her in the eyes and telling her she was beautiful. She didn't care about _anything_ but that.

"Thank you," she whispered back, her quiet words matching his hushed tone.

His hand—which was still hovering just above her ear—drifted down to cup her cheek. Slowly his fingers follow the curve of her jawline—down to her chin, up to her ear, and back again—before his fingertips rested just beneath her chin and tipped it up towards him. She watched as he leaned forward—he kept his eyes with hers the entire time—and pressed his lips to hers, soft as a feather. His kiss was so light, she could barely feel the touch of his lips, but the scruff around said lips, she could feel all over. His facial hair scratched her slightly as their lips continued to kiss slowly, but she didn't complain. Honestly, she loved that feeling. It was like a sexual tickle. Already, she could feel it setting her already-sore pussy to thrumming.

For once, she didn't act on what her body desired. She was just too tired right now, and she honestly couldn't understand how her vagina was up for more after the pounding his cock had just given her. She needed to sleep, long and hard. She knew she'd be sore in the morning. She smiled faintly into their kiss when she thought about that and cupped the back of his neck with a free hand. She didn't know why, but she liked the idea of a man being able to fuck her so hard he left marks behind, something more than just an emotional claim. That had never happened to her before. She had never had anything but gentle and kind and caring boyfriends, and though she wouldn't have used those words to describe Mark five minutes ago, she certainly wouldn't rule them out, either, not now.

Locked in that warm, happy kiss as she was, it took Lexie Grey a full minute to remember that Mark Sloan wasn't her boyfriend, no matter how kind or caring or attentive he was to her at the moment in time. She tried to ignore the hollow pit that plummeted inside her when she realized that. She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter and that she didn't care, but she couldn't convince herself—not that she tried very hard.

Slowly, just as slowly as he'd come forward, he pulled back. His hand returned to her cheek again, and he stared into her eyes so deeply that she felt herself holding her breath as she waited for something monumental to happen.

After a time, he whispered, "Want to come look out at the city with me?"

She blinked at him for a minute, surprised, and then nodded. He kissed her again—soft and light—before pulling back. She didn't move as he bent into a sitting position. She watched as she pulled his boxer-briefs over his flaccid cock and she sighed. She was always sad to see that wonderful part of him go.

She sat up, finally, when he got to his feet. She really didn't feel like getting dressed. She stared at her clothes, not wanting to put a one of them back on. And so she smiled when she looked over and saw he was holding one of his button-downs out to her, the one she'd been wearing when he'd pulled her back into bed earlier. _'Earlier, _Lexie thought, yawning. She couldn't believe that had happened just under an hour ago. It seemed so far away somehow, as if it had happened to different people, and she only had a faint recollection of a second-hand story.

She pulled on the shirt in silence then, ducking her head to do up the buttons. She could feel his eyes on her and she couldn't help but smile. Something about the way he watched her, and she didn't know quite what it was, but she just loved it. Maybe it was just the attentiveness—something Jackson never had time to show her—that she relished. Or maybe it was the fact that it was _him_, and not Jackson, that was paying attention to her. She didn't know, and she tried not to think too hard about the second option. She pulled on her panties next, but left it at that. It would be cold outside this time of year, she knew, but she really didn't feel like putting on anything else. He obviously felt the same, waiting for her bare-chested and wearing only underwear on his lower half.

They met at the foot of the bed, and he held out his hand for her to take as they walked towards the patio doors. The wind was rattling against the glass, whistling and wailing, but neither cared. He opened the door, held it for her, and shut it behind them once she'd stepped outside.

She shivered almost at once at the change in temperature. She hadn't realized how warm she'd been before—tangled in his sheets, in his body, with her own hot and wanting… She'd been on fire before, but now the world outside was ice. She'd forgotten how quickly winter had been coming on this year.

He wrapped his arms around her immediately after they'd stepped outside, pressing his still-hot skin against hers. She melted into his warmth, sighing contently as his arms wrapped around her middle and his front pressed against her back. She turned her head so the side of her face pressed up against the middle of his upper chest, and she all but melted into the hot feel of him. The softest sigh actually escaped her lips, and when it did so, she could feel how his strong arms tightened around her. It made her smile, and she tilted her lips so she could press a kiss to his skin on a whim of gratitude. No one had ever held her like this before. Or, if they had, she had never felt this way because of it. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding her close to protect her, holding her close because he cared about her, holding her close because he… Maybe he…

Lexie Grey swallowed, her head feeling light from all the emotions rushing through her. She promised herself she wouldn't think of that now. …_Or ever, _part of her added belatedly, but was ignored. She knew the thoughts would come back.

They always came back.

.

The two stood like that, in complete silence, for a long while before she heard him whisper something, low and soft, as he kissed her hair. She strained to hear him over the noise, but his words were lost in the wind, and she couldn't even warrant a guess to what he'd said. She hoped it wasn't important, and reasoned that if it was, he'd repeat it later when the scream of the wind didn't drown out every other sound in the world. Even so, Lexie made a soft _hm _noise in the back of her throat, just letting him know—if he even heard—that she knew that he'd spoken. They could exchange actual words once they made it back inside.

She nestled herself closer into his chest, turning her now-freezing body fully into his. She searched for his warmth, desperate for his heat, but his body was chilled like hers. Only vestiges of that now-old heat remained, and it wasn't enough to warm the both of them, nor barely even her. But still, he moved to wrap his arms fully around her and held her close. Her shivering stopped for a few moments and Lexie couldn't help but take notice of how he cared for her in that time, how he… protected her. She suddenly felt like she could die here in his arms and be happy, or at the very least content. He would be the last thing she ever saw or felt before she left the earth, and instead of scaring her, she felt an odd peace wash over her at the thought. _At least I'd have him._

Lexie Grey felt her head swim. Maybe it was her post-coitus high, or the near-freezing temperatures, or maybe it was just being with him, but she felt like she was in a trance. She didn't feel like any of this was real. What was she doing, anyway, up in some plastic surgeon's penthouse, standing out in the frigid winter air, wearing nothing more than a pair of soiled panties and a shirt of his, shivering as he held her close to keep her warm?

When did this happen? How did her life turn into this? And why wasn't she sure she wanted to go back to the way things were before anymore?

.

He pulled the door closed nice and tight once they were back inside, and then picked up a remote on a nearby table. Lexie shivered where she stood, wondering what he was turning on. A TV? Music? She wondered silently why any of those were necessary right now. What they should be doing was checking themselves for frostbite.

A second later, though, the answer to her question arrived: as a bright strip of flame just a few feet away. Lexie jumped, surprised, and then walked closer to inspect the electric fire. The flames spread in a long straight line, about five feet in length, suspended at waist level and built into the wall just a few feet away from the bed. The heat was immediate and so very welcome. Lexie's body shivered harder as she stared at its orangey-yellow glow.

"C'mere, baby," Mark whispered, taking her hand. "Let me warm you up."

She followed him to the bed in silence, letting herself be transported from one source of warmth to the other. She tried not to focus on how he'd called her 'baby,' but the word haunted her. It made her happy and sad and caused her to long for things with him that she knew were worse than impossible. But it also made her hope, just a little bit, that maybe he was feeling some of the same things for her that she felt for him. Those wonderful, confusing things.

They stopped just a foot from the mattress, just a few feet from the fire, but instead jumping right in, he pulled her close for a while. His arms wrapped around her back and hers came to rest on his naked chest, and for a long while, they just held each other, hypnotized by the other's gaze.

Eventually, his hands drifted from her back to her waist. Hers rose to cup his neck and then cheeks. This time, she was the one to start it. Slowly, just as he had done before, she drew his lips to hers. She could feel him smile into their kiss when she lifted herself on her tiptoes to be closer to him. Her hands drifted from his cheeks to his hair and eventually settled themselves around his neck, her fingers linked together as her elbows rested on his broad shoulders. They shared that kiss for a long while—it was so soft and warm, it was impossible to pull back. A few minutes later, Lexie began bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, just to warn him so he'd be ready to catch her when she jumped up into his arms.

He did so effortlessly, catching her without the smallest slip, like it was a rehearsed act. Mark held her, cradled in his arms and standing beside the bed for some time before he knelt on the mattress and laid her down as gently as a first-time parent would a newborn baby.

She smiled, biting her lip to hide the ear-to-ear grin that threatened, and opened her eyes when her back hit the mattress. She stared up at him, biting her lip still, as he bent over her. "You okay?" He asked softly, cupping her cheek in a large, warm hand. She looked so vulnerable in that moment—her body was so small beneath him, so naked and bare beneath the thin shirt and skimpy underwear. He could see the edges of her white teeth digging into her lower, full lip… He brushed his thumb against her mouth to free it, and then repeated his question.

She nodded, and tilted her head to kiss his palm in thanks. "I'm so much better than okay," she replied. She kissed him again. "So much better than okay," she whispered again.

She could see the happiness in his eyes when he bent down to kiss her, and it made her already-thumping heart pick up and her already sparked body heat up.

He kissed her so deeply, so thoroughly, so amazingly, that she didn't even noticed he'd been unbuttoning her borrowed shirt at the same time. Only when he gently tried to push it off her shoulders did she realize what was happening and take the hint. The dress shirt fell into a crumped pile beside them, discarded and forgotten as they focused on one another again.

He bent over her chest, once of his hands cupping her breast as the other held himself up above her. She whimpered softly, squirming when he dragged his thumb over her ever-sensitive nipple. He did it again and again, loving how receptive she was to even his lightest touch. He'd never met anyone like her, never met anyone who reacted like this to him. He couldn't get enough of it, enough of eliciting such a response in her and knowing that he—and only—caused it. He was addicted to giving her pleasure, addicted to making her come and knowing it was all because of him. _They've never gotten that hard that fast before, _he remembered hearing her tell him that first day they'd met. A lump formed in his throat when he remembered how she'd continued that sentence: _When I'm with the right man…_ Mark swallowed, promising to himself, and more important to _her, _that he would show her now—_tonight_—that he was the right man for her. The _only _man for her.

He pulled back to lean his forehead against hers, but never took his hand from her breast. "I love how responsive you are," he whispered, his voice so husky and deep and low as he drew his thumb back and forth across her pebbled nipple before switching to the other and giving it the same treatment. "I love that I'm the only one who can do this to you, Lexie."

Lexie Grey shut her eyes as his lips descended on hers again. _I'm the only one who can do this to you._ Just a few months ago, that sentence would have needed correcting—and she _would've_ corrected him. She would have made sure that he knew who he was in her life, where they stood, and the very real space that her boyfriend took up—in her life and in her bed. She squeezed her eyes shut now, forcing that reality away. She didn't want to think those thoughts right now. She didn't want to think about _him _right now…

And already, he was fading from her mind. Already, Mark's hands were bringing her body to life faster and more exotically than her boyfriend's ever had. _Boyfriend?_ She wondered a moment later. _What boyfriend?_ All she had was this man before her. This amazing man, this wonderful man, this man that could make her scream and shout, make her whimper and moan, make her lose her senses. This man that could make her pant and beg just by putting his hands on her breasts. This man was a god, and she had no trouble admitting it… But he was so much more than that, too. She didn't know what he was, not yet, not wholly, but this—what was happening right here and now—was so different from any of the sex they'd ever had together, she knew there was something more to him than just the cock between his legs. There was something more to their relationship than just sex; there had to be. All of the sex she'd had with Mark had been different from any of the other sex she'd had _ever_… So much so that Lexie Grey wasn't even sure anymore if it _had _been sex. It felt like something more. It had to be something more. But sex? What was more than sex?

Lexie Grey felt her mouth run dry, felt her breath leave her… She suddenly knew there was something she had to say. It was boiling up inside her—every touch of his hands, of his lips—made her more and more sure. She had to say it. "Mark…"She wanted to whisper calmly, but his name came out of her mouth as a weak whimper, needy for his care and attention. He glanced down at her, concerned, and her eyes fell closed when his hand sought to support her cheek again. "I…" She swallowed, and opened her mouth again… But she had nothing to say. She couldn't think of a single way to phrase everything going on inside her. She opened her eyes and looked into his. Her mouth opened and closed, her brown eyes searched his blue ones desperately… and still, she had nothing to say. "Mark," she whispered, almost praying. "Mark, I…"

He bent down, and put his forehead against hers, and stared into her eyes for a long moment before reaching up and kissing the top of her head firmly. "I know, baby," he whispered. Even _his _voice sounded hoarse now. She thought she might be imagining it, but it was possible that his words were hoarse from tears. That's what it sounded like, at least, though she could never imagine a man like Mark being capable of something so mundane—so _human_—as tears. _It's something else, _she told herself. _It's probably just stress._ "I know, Lex." He bent down to kiss her again, feather-soft like before. "I know, baby."

Slowly, soon after, he pressed a trail of kisses down her body. It started at her lips, went down her neck, between the valley made by her breasts, and across the plane of her stomach. He left one last kiss on the space where her panties met her skin before his fingers hooked around their edges and he removed them carefully from her body.

Lexie sighed, closing her eyes as the warm air in the room hit her overheated center. She felt as if she were in overload, sensory and emotional. She didn't know how long he could keep up this slow torture of her, but she was certain she wouldn't be able to last very much longer. She ached for him to pound into her as he had before, to leave her pussy sore and her body bruised. She burned for him to whisper those filthy words in his ear, about how tight and wet she was, about how much he wanted her and how sexy he thought she was… But another part of her wanted this—this slow, thoughtful exploration of her body. Another part of her wanted to feel worshipped, to feel loved, protected, and cared for…and by no one else than him. She wanted exactly what he was giving her.

She gasped aloud when he put his mouth on her. Her body arched off the bed, and only her elbows kept her from slamming back onto the mattress as suddenly as she'd sprung up from it. Mark eyed her from between her thighs, her response having clearly worried him. But she just bit her lip and shook her head. She scooted closer to him, and reached down to tangle her hands in his hair. Her fingers curved over his ears and raked his scalp lightly before massaging it and combing his hair haphazardly. She smiled down at him, almost apologetic. He took her encouragement for what it was, and resumed lapping slowly at her wetness. The smell of her, the taste of her, was overpowering. He felt intoxicated—on her, on them, on life. He was drunk over his whispered confession to her out on the patio, even though he hadn't had a drop of alcohol in days. He was just addicted to her, plain and simple. _She _was his alcohol, his addiction. He didn't care what others thought, he didn't care what her boyfriend would do when—_if_—he found out. Mark couldn't go a single day without her, that was a fact, and therefore he was finding their current predicament increasingly impossible to manage. He felt insanity creeping up behind him, and he knew the only way to fend it off was to keep her close.

He hoped that after tonight, she would stay close. He hoped she would realize that she felt the same as he did and know what she had to do.

But more urgently, he hoped that by the end of the night, she would find the courage say what he wanted—what he _needed—_to hear. He hoped she would return the sentiment he'd whispered into her hair out on the balcony earlier as he'd held her, close and warm against the cold, before he'd brought her back to bed to show her the truth behind his declaration in case she doubted him. _I know, _he'd told her again and again. _I know, baby. _And he had known. He'd known exactly what she was going through, known exactly how conflicted she was, and he hoped—god, he _hoped_—that he had known exactly what she was feeling. He hoped _she_ felt what _he_ felt. Most importantly, though, he hoped she would find the courage, the honest _bravery_, to recognize those feelings and come to him, let him know, when she felt them, too.

He hoped she would tell him she loved him too, loved him more, loved him _back_—just as he knew he loved her—because he had honestly no idea what he'd do with himself if she didn't.

.

_Author's Note: Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thank you all for reading._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

_Author's Note:__ Thank you all very much for your reviews on the last chapter! I was so happy to see many of you liked it—and even thought it was the best chapter in the story—I think the same. Like I said, it's my favorite. :) I hope you like this chapter as well! I apologize for the wait, but school's getting crazy. Please enjoy!_

_A note to one of my anons, Guest: Thank you so much for your review! I am SO happy you liked this story—especially considering how some people shy away from it—and I really hope you like this update! PS: If you want other AUs, I've got plenty! ;)_

.

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All Lexie Grey wanted to do when she got home was collapse into bed. She glanced at her phone as she climbed the stairs to her apartment—it was already past one o'clock. Jackson would be dead asleep by now, and for once she was thankful for that. In her current state, she really didn't feel like speaking or interacting with anyone… least of all him.

Her feet trudged as she made her way up the old, worn, and cluttered staircase. She longed for Mark's apartment building, for the elevator that went straight to his home, that beautiful penthouse that overlooked the entirety of New York City. She smiled just thinking of it, and remembered how they'd looked out on the city together—him in his boxers and she in a borrow shirt of his—just before they'd fallen into bed together that last time. She didn't know what had happened with them tonight. They were both _so angry…_ But then afterwards, it was like all that had melted away. Lexie felt warm just remembering that time, just thinking of how they'd laid together tangled in the sheets, how he'd held her, kissed her, paid attention to her every sigh and gasp… And what it all meant to her, how _much _it had meant to her.

Lexie Grey wondered for the millionth time what she was getting herself into. This thing with Mark was quickly becoming much more serious than the two of them being casual fuck buddies, that was clear, but she felt powerless to stop the process, let alone reverse it. It wasn't like she could send him away. She loved sleeping with him too much, and, if this was one of those rare moments that she was being honest with herself, she loved spending time with him too. Granted, they didn't spend much time together. They'd had a few meals, a few conversations—they mostly fucked—but tonight…

Tonight had been different. Tonight had been _so _different, and yet, she still couldn't put her finger on what it all meant. All she knew was that things were changing between them—changing much more drastically than they ever had over their many hook-ups these past few weeks. As she approached the landing of her floor, Lexie had the odd feeling that, later, when this was all over and done with, she might look back on this night and see it as a kind of turning point, just like that first morning when he'd taken her in the exam room. She still wasn't able to tell if that first encounter was for the better or for the worse… But she had a suspicious feeling that she'd soon know. Things had gone on rather smoothly for much too long.

Lexie Grey sighed as she thought that, wishing her mind didn't immediately go to her boyfriend. No matter what situation she was currently engaged in, the moment he popped into her mind (which was admittedly, embarrassingly, rarely), she was always overcome with an enormous rush of guilt. Tonight, in her weary and beleaguered state, that rush of such a strong emotion practically threated to knock her over. To combat it, she pushed those thoughts away, fumbling for her keys inside her purse as she stood in the empty hallway.

And just like her mind immediately went to her boyfriend when she started feeling guilty, the second she tried to think of anything _but _him, the first solution her consciousness always offered was Mark. She knew she should hate herself for that—and especially for the way thinking of him always caused the faintest smile take shape up her lips—but she couldn't help it. And now, after tonight, thinking of Mark became something so different—something so much more than just recalling scandalous instances of sexual gratification. Now, instead of recalling how heatedly he'd taken her, or how eager she'd been to see him, all she could think about was that last time. All she could think about was listening to him call her beautiful, feeling his arms wrapped around her, hearing herself tell him to call her endearing names like 'baby,' a moniker that was usually reserved for use by a boyfriend or significant other.

She shook her head, amused at the thought, the term. _Significant other. _Well, that was an apt description, wasn't it? If Mark was anything, he was certainly that. (And she knew he was so much more than just 'anything.') He had had such an unignorable presence in both the real world and the fantasy that played out in her mind every time she saw him. It was almost unreal how much power he had over her, unimaginable how strong his pull was when he flexed its muscle between them.

What surprised her even more, though, was that _she_ seemed to have the same effect on _him._ Lexie Grey could not ever remember having sex with anyone the way she had it with Mark—she couldn't ever remember her body responding like that, but more so, she couldn't ever remember a man responding like that _to_ _her._ She had wondered multiple times if he was screwing with her. She had wondered if he was just trying to heighten the experience, to make it better for her so she'd make it better for him… But after weeks and weeks and nothing changing in his performance, it was clear that his attraction to her was genuine.

She had such an insanely hard time believing that he was as attracted to her as she was to him. It seemed nearly impossible, considering who she was, who he was… Considering she had a steady boyfriend.

_Steady._ Lexie sighed, leaning her head against the door to their apartment. That was the word she always used to describe them in her mind: _steady_. And they were, weren't they? Or at least they had been. _Had been._ The words hurt more than she'd expected, mostly because she knew it was her fault that they were drifting even further apart. What was it that Mark had said earlier? _Admit that you're tired of him. _Lexie Grey closed her eyes. And she had, hadn't she? Just because she was horny and weak she'd gone and told him that she was _his… _and she hadn't even regretted it afterwards.

What was wrong with her?

How was she still living like this? How had she not gone insane?

The idea occurred to her as she rested her key against the lock. Maybe she was insane. Maybe that's why she hadn't thought of her boyfriend when she'd went and fucked another man, maybe that was why—still—part of her didn't regret it. Maybe that was why she could swear her heart beat faster in her chest whenever she thought about Mark, why just remembering what he looked like, tasted like, smelled like, made her knees go week and wobble beneath her body. Jackson had never done that to her; no one had ever done that to her… except _him._

By the time she put her key in the lock and twisted it, she was certain: she was insane. What other explanation was there?

The sight that greeted her as she stepped inside only solidified this opinion. Her first thought was to wonder how long she'd been hallucinating. She noted that she should probably see a neurologist—or, in the very least, a psychiatrist.

.

Jackson Avery looked like he'd been sitting there for hours.

The thought was odd, funny even, until she realized that it was the truth. She could see it in his face, in his body language, in everything that surrounded him—he'd been sitting there for _hours_.

She stared, wide-eyed with her lower lip hanging open, at the sight in front of her. It wasn't just his presence that boggled her mind, but what he'd done as well. Both the kitchen and dining area were spotless. The entire table was set—forks, knives, spoons, glasses and plates—and even covered with a special cloth they rarely used except for important occasions. Everything was perfectly arranged, perfectly present… except her. There was space for two people at the table, and her seat was conspicuously empty.

She couldn't take her eyes off the candles on the table, even though staring at them physically hurt her. They were burned nearly all the way to the base, though the smallest blue-orange flickers could be seen every few seconds, dancing inside the wax as they struggled to survive.

Painfully, slowly, and with more than a hint of fear and humiliation, her eyes found her boyfriend's. He stared back at her, not making a sound, not moving a muscle. She guessed he was incredibly uncomfortable, sitting in that rickety old wooden chair, but no doubt it was a statement that he chose to hold his ground. She knew he was waiting for her to speak, to explain herself. She could barely think.

"Oh, god," Lexie breathed. The realization had hit her the moment she'd walked in, the way a truck would on the highway, and now dragging her behind it, with her stuttering all the way. It took her a few second to actually get the words out, out of breath as she was, and still, she stumbled over every word. "I—It's the fourteenth, isn't it? I… Jesus, I…"

Jackson turned his wrist, checking his watch. His voice was calm when he spoke, as if the date or the time didn't matter in the least. She couldn't stop staring at the table. She wondered how much time he'd wasted setting it, cooking… She wondered how long he'd sat, alone, waiting for her. "It's been the fifteenth for almost an hour, actually."

She couldn't believe she'd forgot. She couldn't believe she hadn't shown up. What the hell was _wrong _with her? "Jackson, I'm _so_ sorry, I was—"

He lurched to his feet, holding his hands up in a gesture that clearly said he didn't want to hear any more. "You know what, Lex?" He shook his head, sighing. "Just save it. I don't care what your excuse is," he muttered in parting, even though it was so painfully obvious that he did.

She watched him turn and leave the kitchen, and she could tell from his stooped posture that he was exhausted. She tried not to think about how long he'd been awake… and what she'd been doing while he was here, waiting for her. _You're such a naughty, naughty girl, Lexie… _She shivered, her skin suddenly crawling. The words that had aroused her before sickened her now, and she swallowed thickly, feeling the sudden urge to run to the shower, to scrub Mark's touch off of her skin and cleanse herself of what she now felt was a terrible, branding sin.

For the first time, she actually realized what she was doing, who she was hurting and how. For the first time, she felt like a cheater: dirty, dishonest, mean… She felt horrible. She felt like she was going to throw up.

"I'm going to bed." His voice drifted back to her through the haze of self-hatred and disgust that clouded her being. "There's food in the fridge," he threw over his shoulder, subdued, "if you want it, that is. I made your favorite."

Lexie swallowed, but the lump of guilt stuck in her throat. Her boyfriend rarely cooked—neither of them did—and never after a full day at work. He never had the energy or the time, and she'd never cared, but for him to make this kind of effort _now_… And today, of all days…

"Jackson…" His name exited her mouth sounding like a broken whisper. She hated how weak she sounded, how powerless, but it seemed to her that that's what she was these days—powerless. She simply traded one weakness for another, and she wondered sadly who would come along after Jackson inevitably left her and Mark got bored of fucking another ordinary single girl.

His only reply was to shut the bedroom door. He didn't slam it—half of her wished he had; she knew she deserved that and so much more—but instead, he let it creak slowly closed. Lexie wondered if that was a sign that she wasn't supposed to follow him to bed.

She waited a few minutes to see if he emerged—he didn't—so she then decided to clean up the table he'd made up. She felt tears prick her eyes when she saw the two nearly foot-long candlesticks she'd bought last Christmas were burned almost to their bases. She wondered if he'd ever forgive her, though she knew she didn't deserve to be forgiven. Not for tonight and not for anything else. Blinking back tears, she blew them out, unceremoniously tossing the remains in the trash.

After she'd put the dishes away and folded up the tablecloth, she slowly made her way to their bedroom. He was lying on the far side of the bed, his back turned to her. Obviously not a good sign. Lexie undressed slowly, keeping her ears alert for any faint rustling in the sheets. She didn't hear a sound, and soon enough, she was crawling under the sheets beside him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into the pitch-black room. She stared at the ceiling because she didn't think she could take staring at his back and waiting for him to turn and face her. She knew he never would. "I didn't mean to forget, I swear, I just… I…" _I was just too busy with my _other_ boyfriend that I forgot about you, being here, waiting at home for me. I forgot about our anniversary and I forgot about everything we've ever shared together. For those hours that I was with him, I forgot you even existed. By the way, have I been cruel enough to say "sorry" enough times yet? _The rest of her apology died in her throat, consumed by the sarcasm of her own thoughts at the fiery guilty that tore at her heart. She knew there was nothing she could say to make this right, but she also knew that she still had to try. She would say anything and everything it took, just to make things better, or right, or…normal. She wasn't ready to admit the truth that was staring her in the face: nothing would ever be normal again.

"I love you," she whispered, hating the way the words got caught in her throat on the way out. "I love you, Jackson." The statement came out of her mouth tasting like a lie, and upon realizing that, her stomach turning, making her feel dizzy and faint. She had never felt more horrible in her entire life.

He didn't speak for minutes—didn't reply—and waiting for him to say those three words nearly broke her heart. But eventually, he did reply. He turned—just a few inches, so she could hear his voice clearly—and murmured, "Love you too, Lex."

She felt tears spring to her eyes at the defeat in his tone when he said that, as if he didn't have another option in life except to love her. She tried so hard not to see her plight reflected in his, but it was impossible to ignore. Their parallels were too many, too confusing; it was all _too much. _Though she knew it wasn't the right moment, she scooted across the bed and wrapped her arms around him. Her front pressed up against his back, and her arms hung down over his shoulders to link across his chest. She tried to ignore the way he immediately stiffened at her touch.

After a couple minutes, he reached down and brought her entwined hands to his lips. He kissed her fingers softly, briefly, and in a silent apology, she kissed the back of his neck and ran her hands over his bare chest. "I'll make it up to you," she whispered, leaning her head against his back. "Whenever you want, whatever you want, I'll…" She closed her eyes and finished her promise hoarsely, "I'll make it up to you."

She didn't know whether to be relieved or heartbroken when he muttered, "Don't bother trying, Lexie," and rolled further away from her. The part that ached for Mark, that wanted him again already, that wanted him here with her instead of Jackson, was relieved beyond belief, beyond measure or explanation. That part of her let him go readily, willingly, even a bit happily. But another part of her, the part that was still in love with Jackson, the part that was still—probably naïvely—convinced they could fix things, cringed as her heart was shattered into a few more sharp and broken pieces.

.

As she lay sleepless in bed later that night, Lexie tried not to think of that last time between her and Mark. Late in his apartment, just after they'd gone inside from the cold… but it was impossible to forget. She tried not to think about how soft his hands had been when they'd travelled over her skin, or how gently he'd kissed her. She understood that he was trying to erase all the sweet pain he'd given her earlier, but it wasn't necessary. She knew she would cherish that memory—angry and competitive as it had been—as much as she did the latter one, full of warm kisses and gentle caresses and looks she wasn't sure she'd deciphered correctly.

She kept going back to that moment, just before she begged him to be inside her, when his mouth was on her. He'd been so kind and gentle, and just like how he'd been rough and angry before, that she found herself stunned speechless. She couldn't understand what was happening with them. One second they were like they'd always been, fooling around, the next he was _incensed _with jealousy, and the one after that… What? What were they that last time? Even now, she still couldn't completely shake that feeling he'd managed to unlock in her when he took her to bed that final time. She didn't know what that feeling was, exactly, or how to explain it. She didn't know if it even _could _be explained.

.

_ She couldn't take it anymore. She gasped aloud, her body, mind, and soul pleading for his cock. Pleading for his closeness. He looked almost scared when he lifted his head from between her thighs, but she couldn't let him have doubts or hold himself back from her. Not now, not ever._

_ "Please," she whispered, staring down at him unblinkingly. Her hands, which had been fisting his hair before, now ran through it softly, gently. She almost smiled when she realized she was trying to comb his hair back into place from where she'd previously mussed it up. "Please," she whispered again, her fingers curling around his ears. Her thumbs stretched out to stroke the high sides of his cheeks. "I need you, Mark. Now."_

_ He looked unsure in bed for the first time she'd ever seen. He propped himself up on his elbows, pulling himself up to her. "Are you sure you want it?" He wondered softly, recalling how roughly he'd taken her before. His worried eyes roamed over her face, searching for the truth so he wouldn't have to search her hips for the bruises. He already knew he'd hurt her, though it hadn't been his intention. "Because we don't—"_

_ "Yes," she answered quickly, her voice was resolute. "I need you, I need you inside me. I need to feel…" She trailed off. She didn't know what she needed to feel. She just knew she had to be as close to him as humanly possible. She needed to know that he was feeling was she felt, needed to look into his eyes when he made himself one with her and see the truth that would cut through all the confusion._

_ Thankfully, he seemed to understand. His eyes grew very tender as he looked down at her, and when he kissed her it was soft and sweet, with none of the exciting roughness from before. Surprisingly, this gentle side of him aroused her too, more so than she thought it ever would. But, as always, sex with Mark was immeasurably different, immeasurably more pleasurable, than sex with anyone else. "I know," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting across her mouth and chin. "I know what you need to feel, baby."_

_ She closed her eyes in relief. She was so happy he understood. …But how did _he_ understand, especially when even _she_ wasn't sure she understood? "You do?" She wondered, breathless as her heart hammered the air out of her lungs. She couldn't stop the way her heart had expanded when he'd called her that name. 'Baby.' Why did such a simple word do such complicated things to her? _Probably because you're not his baby, _the snide part of her pointed out. The realization made her sadder than she would've thought, even causing part of her to whisper, _But I want to be_. She reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. He blinked slowly down at her when her thumb stroked his cheekbone lightly. "You know?" She wondered quietly._

_ "Yes." He nodded. "I do."_

_ She could feel him leaning in to her touch, so she brought up her other hand to frame his face. She held him there, held him above her, for a few more seconds before leaning up and kissing him. She could fear the scratch of the short stubble on her skin, and it made her lower belly fill with heat, caused tingles to spread across her skin. She couldn't help but moan softly against his hot lips._

_ He kissed her back immediately, bending down and surrounding her mouth with his. She gasped softly when he pushed her deeper into the mattress, but when he tried to let up, her arms kept him locked in place. She could feel his body against hers—every inch of it—and she didn't want to let go of that feeling. He was so warm and strong and familiar… She felt like she was drowning in him. She never wanted him to leave, never wanted this to end._

_ When he finally thrust himself up inside her, it was done gently. Softly. It was slow and kind and a hundred other things Lexie Grey wouldn't have associated with Dr. Mark Sloan an hour ago. She could still feel him pounding her into the mattress. She could still hear him whisper about how wet she was, how hot, how naughty and dirty. She could still hear herself beg for his cock. Just thinking of that made her whimper._

_ "You alright, Lex?"_

_ Her eyes blinked open slowly, as if she'd been asleep and not just lost in memories. "I…"_

_ "Was I too fast?" He wondered, staring down at her, concern turning his sharp icy-blue eyes into still, tepid pools. He stilled the slow thrusts of his hips against hers and separated them so he wouldn't rest on her injured midsection. His hands came forward to rub her hips gently where bluish-purple bruises had already started to form. He could already feel the guilt needling at him for that. "Are you… okay?"_

_ A wide smile spread out over her face at his concern, his attentiveness, and she suddenly felt like crying. She had no idea why. She wasn't sad. She was something so far from sad, but still the tears pricked at her eyes. "I'm wonderful," she whispered. Her voice was ragged, hoarse. She willed it to be strong. "I'm so wonderful, Mark."_

_ He remained unconvinced. Nevertheless, his eyes were tender and warm in the darkness as he stared down at her. "You'll tell me if I need to stop, won't you, baby?"_

_ There it was again—'baby.' He called her 'baby.' Why did he keep saying that? And why did it make her lose her mind?_

_It was no longer a feeling now, no longer an inkling associated with that intimate word—there were tears swimming in her eyes now. Real tears. She struggled not to let them fall; she didn't want to ruin this moment. She wanted to make it last forever. She wanted to hear him call her 'baby' for the rest of her life, wanted to have him hold her in his arms and take her to bed until she was old and grey. She _wanted_ him. For the first time since they'd started, she was admitting to herself that she wanted him for something more than sex, and she could hardly believe it. It made her want to cry; it made her want to shout. It made her feel like dying because she knew it would all be over once she went back home. "I will," she whispered. Her fingers traced over his lips. "I will, Mark, I promise."_

_ He smiled beneath her touch, and as he continued pumping himself slowly inside her, he bent down. Her fingers still hovered over his mouth even when it was just an inch from hers. His eyes sparkled with happiness and kindness and something else, something she knew very well but didn't dare associate with him, with this man who wasn't her boyfriend. "Are you not going to let me kiss you, Lex?"_

_ She smiled, and all thoughts of her boyfriend—what was his name again?—flew out of her mind. She turned her hand, cupping his jaw and leaving his mouth free to seek hers. "Call me 'baby' again," she whispered softly, so softly, almost as if she didn't want him to hear her secret wish, "and you can kiss me as many times as you like, Mark Sloan."_

_ A slow smile spread over his face, and she watched as his blue eyes seemed to melt again as they stared into hers. They looked like two warm pools. After a long, silent minute, he finally replied, straining to joke to contrast her serious words, "You're an easy woman to please, it appears."_

_ She couldn't help but grin, even through the seriousness of their words. It was true. The simplest things made her happy. _He _made her happy. …But he was not simple. He was complicated._

_ But he made her _happy_. She felt like she was whining, even in her mind, just because she wanted something that she wasn't allowed to have. Happiness: that was what was important, wasn't it? Didn't happiness trump every other feeling—guilt, sorrow, heartbreak?_

_ He made her happier than she'd been in years. He made her happier than she'd ever been in her entire life. She felt the tears prick again. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Why was she thinking like this? Feeling this? She bit her lip. She would not cry. She would not ruin this moment. Nothing could ruin this moment._

_ "Kiss me," she whispered, casting her previous stipulation aside. She looked up into his eyes, and drew him close with her hands, legs, and every other part of her body. "Kiss me, Mark, please." He was thrusting into her with a bit more frequency now, and she could feel her orgasm snowballing towards her. It slow and gradual this time—instead of sharp and violent like the last—but that didn't mean she enjoyed it any less. In fact, somehow, she was enjoying it more. She wanted to wonder why, but she didn't have time. Her release was coming, and she wanted his mouth on hers when she came. She wanted to feel him all over._

_ She wanted to be his._

.

Lexie Grey swallowed roughly, opening her eyes. Her dark gaze immediately sought the clock on the bedside table, and the digital readout mocked her: _2:01 AM._ Quietly, she eased herself out of bed, wishing she could say that what had gone through her head over the last hour had been a dream or a fantasy.

She resisted the urge to slam the cupboard door closed after she'd grabbed a glass.

No, it'd been real. All too terribly, _wonderfully_ real.

She took a series of calming breaths as she leaned against the skin and filled her glass. She downed the cup in one long gulp, and though it helped her aching throat, her chest still hurt. She grabbed her phone from the kitchen table, and before she even realized what she was doing, she'd pulled up Mark's contact and had started typing.

.

.

Mark Sloan simply sighed when he heard his phone _buzz _on the table beside his bed. He hadn't moved since she'd left. He'd laid here, on top of her, when he'd came, he'd laid here after he'd rolled off her of her, and he'd laid her as he watched her get to her feet, put on her soiled clothes, and leave.

He hadn't said a word aloud to stop her, but he'd been pleading—praying and hoping and screaming—inside that she'd stay. He barely felt like he'd breathed since that had happened, though he knew he must've had to do so to survive this long. He pressed his lips together sourly. _Survive, _he thought bitterly, _what a pathetic choice of words, you spineless loser._ Though he told himself not to, though he told himself to leave her behind like she'd done to him, he reached over for his cell nonetheless. He knew it had to be her messaging him at this hour. He wondered how she was up for a repeat performance already. He thought he'd fucked her hard enough that she might've had trouble walking afterwards—not that that was his original intent.

His eyes scanned the message quickly, hardly digesting it as his heart pounded in his chest. When he read it a second time, he was calmer. When he read it a third, he understood.

_I know you're probably asleep. That's okay. It was a long night, to say the least. I don't exactly know why I'm sending this to you, and I'll probably delete it before I even *do* send it, but I just wanted you to know, I just wanted you to hear it from me—that I miss you, Mark._

_I know it's only been an hour since I left, but I can't help but think of you still. I can't forget what happened between us and, well, I guess I just hope you can't either._

_._

_._

Lexie stared at her phone, wondering what else she could say. Her fingers hovered over the keys, but she couldn't put what she was feeling into words. And she couldn't call him—what she had to say wasn't something she could risk her boyfriend overhearing.

She wished she could visit him again. She wished it was acceptable for her to show up at his apartment and request that they do nothing but hold each other and stare out at the city like they had hours ago. She closed her eyes, placing her hands on her hips and squeezing her skin impatiently. She winced immediately, pulling her hands away. She lifted her shirt, discovering the previously blue bruises had taken on a darker, sinister-looking purple color.

She shut her eyes again, thankful—just for a moment—that things had gone badly with Jackson tonight. She had no idea how she'd explain such marks to him. How else would she had gotten those sorts of injuries except from sex? And they hadn't had sex in weeks. There was no explanation, no explanation except the truth, and that answer was too ludicrous to even consider admitting aloud.

Lost, she picked her phone up again, staring at the screen. It'd been over a minute, but still he hadn't said anything. He hadn't said _I miss you, too. _He hadn't said _I want to see you again._ He hadn't said a word. He hadn't even started typing.

She tried to ignore the way her chest tightened at the thought but it was impossible. It hurt too much. She knew he'd received the text, and she knew he'd read it. She didn't bother to wonder why he was awake and looking at his cell at two in the morning, because a much starker fact was staring her in the face—he was ignoring her. He didn't care. He didn't care like she did, and it was clear that if he wasn't answering now he never would. Nevertheless, she bit the inside of her cheek, stared intently at the screen, and attempted to reclaim the shreds of her dignity.

She wished she could erase or delete all that she'd just told him, and though she knew that wasn't possible, maybe she count recant it, make it null and void with another message. Her hands shook as she typed, and she was humiliated about how much his rejection hurt her. She wished she could say she didn't care, but just from her actions and reactions tonight, it would be clear to anyone involved—namely, _him_—that she cared.

What was the worst bit was how obvious it was, how obviously she put herself out there… and how obviously he failed to show interest.

.

.

The second text came about a minute and a half later. It was short, unfeeling, and straight to the point. Mark hated himself for the way the rage bubbled up inside him just from these few short lines of text. He hated how much he depended on her. And he hated himself for letting it all happen. It was his fault all this happened, after all. If he hadn't touched her, kissed her, fucked her in that goddamn exam room—

He shook his head. He wouldn't think about that right now. He stared at his phone instead.

_Anyway. I hope you've gotten some sleep. Call me if you want and maybe I'll see you when I see you._

Mark's hand closed around his phone in a tight fist as he rose to a sitting position. He wondered if she thought this was some sort of repayment. He wondered if she thought this was her way of evening the scales between them. Whether she meant it or not, one thing was certain: _It wasn't enough._ He had put it all out there—he had _said the words_—and all she could manage to say in reply was "I miss you"? "Call me if you want"? What kind of recompense was that?

He resisted the urge to smash his phone against the wall; that wouldn't fix anything. A second later, he realized—what the fuck—and hurled it against the far side of the room. The _crunch _of broken metal, glass, and plastic only added to his numbness and fueled his growing self-hatred.

Above all else, he longed for the ability, the right, to blame her for everything that had happened. Being able to blame anyone, really, would have been better than knowing that he had no one but himself to blame. He hated knowing his unhappiness was all his own fault, especially when he'd had such an exquisite taste of the opposite just hours ago. It seemed like a dream, now… or maybe a nightmare.

He could still feel the smoothness of her hair beneath his lips when he closed his eyes. He could feel the wind rushing past and the warmth from her small body.

_I think I'm in love with you, Lexie._

.

.

Lexie Grey stared at her phone for minutes upon minutes after she sent the last text. There was still no reply, and there was only one explanation. Contrary to what he'd showed her earlier tonight, it appeared that he didn't care for her. If he had, he might've replied. If he had, he might've said _I miss you, too._ He could have even just brushed her off and replied that he'd call her tomorrow. But he didn't.

How could he ever care for _her_, anyway? He had all of the glamorous women of New York at his fingertips; why would he ever care about some tiny little brunette girl he'd only known for a few months? All they were doing was having sex, anyway. He had the right to move on to whomever he wanted when he got bored with her. Just because he'd kissed her gently and called her 'baby' didn't mean that he suddenly adored her. He'd simply found the loophole for getting more and more from her and he'd begun to exploit it. She couldn't blame him. She would—and had—done the same.

Lexie turned off her phone, stuffed it deep in the bottom of her purse, and then headed back to what might as well be an empty bed.

.

_Author's Note: Please leave me a review on this chapter! They're always appreciated :) Thank you all SO much for reading! (PS: Out of My Hands will be updated ASAP!)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

slexieforever: Thank you so much! Wow, thank you for leaving such lovely review! Don't worry; though I usually write them in crazy AUs, I will never stop writing for Mark and Lexie. :)

To my guest who doesn't read work-in-progress stories: Thank you for your reviews! I am so flattered you're sticking with this story even though you usually don't read unfinished stories. _Touch Me _is actually coming to a close very soon. There will only be 13 parts, so you don't have too much longer to wait. Thank you so much for your reviews. I would love if I could reply to them all individually—you should get an account. :)

Author's Note: Hi, guys. I'm so sorry this update took so long. I've been meaning to post it the last couple days, but I kept not being able to finish it. Finally, I have. I hope you all like it.

.

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He was already in the kitchen when Lexie woke up the next morning.

She spotted him from their bedroom's doorway and stopped, though he hadn't so much as looked up to meet her eye. Lexie hesitated before walking forward, unsure if she should walk softly so she wouldn't disturb him or if she should walk extra loudly to make her presence known. Finally, she disregarded both options and tried to walk—and act—as normally as possible.

The rustle of cereal falling from the box and the clink of the spoon against her bowl were the only sounds in their small apartment for a couple minutes. Even after she'd sat down across from him, he didn't say a word. She looked him over carefully as she chewed her cereal. She was relieved that he didn't look too exhausted today—just stressed. She bit back a sigh. He always looked stressed. But at lest he seemed to have gotten more sleep than she did.

She was about to ask him what he was looking over—there was a manila envelope spread out on the table before him—but before she could, he looked up, turning his attention to her. Lexie quickly swallowed the mouthful of cereal so it wouldn't get stuck when she heard what he was about to say. Nonetheless, it didn't go down easy.

"So where were you last night?" His voice was quiet and politely curious, not at all accusing.

Lexie told herself that again as she tried to slow her heartbeat by sheer force of will: _He's not accusing me of anything. _"Hm?" She managed to eek out, buying herself a few more seconds to think of a cover story as she forced a quick smile up onto her lips. It felt like such an effort. She couldn't remember when everything started feeling so fake.

Jackson stirred the contents of his bowl slowly, his eyes staring into hers, understandably expecting an answer. "Where were you last night?" He wondered as Lexie's mind raced. "You were out until one in the morning." His voice had taken on a slightly judgmental edge as he spoke, and she couldn't blame him—she was never out late. Even when they'd just met, she'd always been the party-pooper who needed to be home by midnight; she couldn't stand being up those late hours, whiling them away in endless bars or clubs.

Lexie took a quick breath to calm herself. She knew he wasn't accusing her of being with someone else—the thought would never cross his mind—but she couldn't help but take it that way. She hated having a guilty conscience. It poisoned her every word, every action; it influenced her every thought. It made everything he did seem like a challenge, and everything she did a crime.

"I was out with some friends," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant about it. Inside, she could feel her heart banging within her chest, feel the fear running through her veins. She couldn't help but expect him to see right through everything she said. He knew her better than anyone, didn't he? No doubt he'd start backing her into a corner soon enough.

But Jackson only nodded methodically, as if such an occurrence was normal. "From work?" He guessed.

"It was Angela's birthday," Lexie replied, barely taking notice as she pulled one of her coworkers into her web of lies. "She was turning thirty, so she wanted to go out, feel like a kid again." Lexie was almost surprised at how easily the lie came, and how believable it sounded—at least to her ears. Jackson was even nodding along like he understood, so he must believe it too. She breathed a little easier, and even managed to take a bite of cereal.

"You could've called me," he told her after a moment, looking down at his cereal again. "Or at least texted; told me where you were. I called you."

"My phone was confiscated," Lexie replied, forcing a sheepish smile on her face and trying not to read too much into his response. "She wanted it to be a party, and since she and Josh broke up a couple months ago…"

"…She didn't want all of you texting your boyfriends in front of her," Jackson finished knowingly.

"She took our phones the second we got into the club, and kicked out any boyfriends that were brought along." Lexie smiled, quietly pleased with how believable her first lie was sounding even as she continued to pile others on top of it. "Though that didn't stop Angela from finding some men of her own," she added after a moment, trying to make things sound more natural.

When she looked over to meet Jackson's eye, he was smirking. "Good for her," he replied, taking his bowl to the sink and washing it out.

Lexie turned around in her chair, confused. "Good for her?" She repeated.

"I remember a little birdie telling me that even schoolteachers needed to be fucked every once in a while," he replied, and she caught the flash of that familiar grin on his face as he turned and headed towards the door.

Lexie tried to smile, but it felt so forced it almost hurt to keep it up. She was glad Jackson was on his way out. She didn't know what he'd think if he saw the grimace on her face when she was reminded of having sex with him.

Just as he was leaving, though, she heard him pause. He didn't pull the door open or walk to another part of the apartment; when she turned in her chair, his head was bent and he was staring down at the floor.

"You okay?" The words came out of her mouth before she could even think. Silently, she congratulated herself. Maybe she still did have a bit of consideration and compassion left in her.

"Fine." His voice was quiet, subdued, and Lexie felt the guilt rush through her again. She didn't know what to say.

Finally, after a few seconds of utter silence, she wondered, "Is something going on at work?"

She could see his body tense under his clothes, and though she knew it wasn't right, she couldn't help but be thankful that his focus was on something besides her and what she was doing when he wasn't around.

"What is it?" She wondered quietly. Unsure if she should get up and comfort him with a hug, she remained stuck in her seat. In the back of her mind, she wondered when touching him had become awkward and forced, instead of second-nature as it used to be.

"I have a meeting this afternoon." Lexie wondered if she imagined the slight tremor in his voice.

She waited for him to continue, but he didn't say anything else. Prompting him, she began, "And…" only to be cut off.

"You know what?" He replied abruptly. "I'll—I'll talk to you later, okay? After."

He was out the door and pulling it closed behind him faster than Lexie could even blink. She could hear his feet on the stairs—fast, almost needlessly so—as she stared at the closed door. She knew he was nervous about something, but nervous enough to nearly sound scared? What was going on? He'd even paused before he'd left like he'd wanted to talk to her about it.

Lexie blinked, her eyes falling to the ground. Why hadn't she helped? Why hadn't she promised him it would go well or wish him good luck? She hadn't even asked what the meeting was about. It could be anything. Maybe he was on the verge of getting fired—that would certainly explain his nervousness and need to be at the office so early on a weekend. But that, she comforted herself, was just speculation. She had no idea if he was getting fired, or even if he was on the verge of getting fired—he was probably fine. It was probably just a new client or a reassignment.

A moment later, she realized how horrible that sounded: She had no idea. And she didn't. She hadn't had any idea what was going on at his work for weeks, months.

She had no idea how he was.

What had he become a complete stranger to her?

_Maybe when you started fucking someone else behind his back, you bitch. _The internal response came like a slap to the face. A well-deserved one, Lexie had to admit, but it made her eyes sting nonetheless.

Last night had been like a blast of cold water, a rare face-to-face one-on-one that reminded her that she actually did have a boyfriend. Someone who loved her and cared about her enough to do what he'd done—make dinner, set the table, take off work, and even stay up when she was late…

And she'd forgotten about him. Ignored him. Cast him aside. She'd spent months making time for him when he didn't have time, and now that he finally did, she'd made herself unavailable. Why was she being so consistently horrible to him?

.

With it being Saturday, Lexie had no work and therefore practically nothing to do. She tried to do chores—cleaning the apartment, washing the laundry, doing some grocery shopping—but no activity lasted her more than a half-hour. She was jittery, nervous, and she had no way to shake her anxiety.

She wished she could say she was nervous for Jackson. It was clear when he left that he wasn't looking forward to going to whatever meeting he had left to prepare for. But, unfortunately, he was no longer her primary concern. (She hated how freely she could admit that to herself. It made her want to break something.) More than once during the day, she found herself simply standing still and staring at her phone on the countertop. She realized, after she snapped out of her first of many such trances, that she'd been waiting for it to ring, to buzz, or to come to life with any sort of communication… and not from Jackson.

She hadn't spoken with Mark since last night, and though it had been less than twenty-four hours, it felt like an eternity. Despite having gone to bed without getting an answer from him—and knowing deep down that there wouldn't be one after last night—she couldn't help but wake with hope. But her phone had been blank this morning, and it had been blank all day.

She supposed she should be thankful. Last night had been a lesson in so many subjects, the most prominent of which being that she should forget about him. He'd ignored her, so she should ignore him back and focus on her boyfriend. Well, that all sounded great on paper, but the execution was where Lexie was having trouble.

It was proving impossible for her to stop thinking about him. She thought about him while she sat in her apartment. She thought about him when she went on a walk to clear her head. She thought about him while she tried to drown out her thoughts through television, music, books, chores…

The only time she stopped thinking about him was when she was reminded of Jackson, and focused, guiltily, on him for a few minutes. Inevitably, though, all trains of thought led back to the same station.

As the sun sank low in the sky and night took over, she couldn't help but wonder if Mark was thinking of her. What was he doing? He would've been done with work by now. If today had been like the old days, she'd already be in his apartment and half-undressed. In a half-hour or so, they'd be ready to go at it again.

She wondered if he was busy with someone else. Considering what his sexual appetite had been like when they were together, Lexie was certain he couldn't go this long without a release. Lexie wondered who she was, the mystery woman that Mark was no doubt inside at this very moment. She shut her eyes, wishing it didn't hurt to even entertain the fact that he would be with someone else—that he even _could _be with someone else. _She _was with someone else, wasn't she? Why couldn't she extend the same courtesy to him? He was allowed to fuck whoever he pleased—their many rendezvous attested to that fact—but still…

Still, she'd be lying if she said it didn't hurt.

What she wouldn't admit, though, was how much it hurt. All she knew was that it hurt too much and that it wasn't allowed—it _shouldn't_—hurt that 't allowed to hurt her this much. He wasn't capable of it. He couldn't.

She wouldn't let him.

.

.

Even after an entire week, the silence between the two still reigned.

Mark still hadn't spoken to her since that last night in her apartment, and though she hadn't become so pathetic as to contact him again, she was still pathetic enough to keep hoping. She couldn't quite believe that he could go this long without her. _She _certainly couldn't go this long without him, which was a mystifying development. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Why was she so intent on hearing from him again? Why was he starring in nearly every thought that passed through her mind?

The only explanation that made sense was that she wanted to right her wrongs. They'd left things on incredibly uncertain terms and she just wanted to know where they stood. It was nothing more than that. Nothing at all.

Besides, she had other things to occupy her attention. (Or, at least, she had other things that _should _be occupying her attention.) Jackson was happy. Smiling, whistling, laughingly… _happy._ It was kind of weird, actually, Lexie noticed, as she looked at him across the dinner table or caught his eye as one of them left for work. He was almost _too _happy. She tried to remember the last time he'd whistled or the last time she'd hear him laugh in such a carefree fashion, and no memories came to mind that weren't at least a year old.

What was even stranger, he never said a word when she asked. His smile just turned a little secretive and his eyes lit up, but he'd do nothing more than kiss her and promise she'd know soon. After a while, Lexie stopped wondering what it was. If he wanted to tell her, he'd tell her.

Besides, she had other things to worry about.

.

By that Friday evening, Mark still hadn't surfaced. He hadn't texted, he hadn't called. He could've dropped off the face of the earth for all Lexie knew. He could've died.

That last errant thought sent her mind into overdrive, imaging any number of horrible situations he could've ended up in, and when her cell rang, she pounced on it, breathless with fear and hope. "Yes?" She asked, her heart racing. She didn't even have time to check the caller ID before she answered; that unknown fact only spurred her hope that it was Mark on the other side of the line.

"Hey, Lex."

Her shoulders dropped at the sound of her boyfriend's voice. She bit back a sigh, closing her eyes as she came down from her foolish, impulsive high. "Hey," she replied dully. Cognizant of her tone, she tried to inject some excitement into it. "What's up?" She glanced to the clock; it was five o'clock, she saw with a start. What was he doing calling her at five? Didn't he have work to do?

"What's up is I'm off for the rest of the night," he replied cheerfully, and her brain went blank for a moment. "You wanna go out to dinner or what?" She could almost hear him grinning.

"You…" Momentarily, all thoughts of Mark flew out of her mind. It was five PM and her boyfriend was off work. She couldn't remember this happening… ever. "What's going on?" She wondered aloud, not knowing what else to ask. She suddenly felt like she was completely outside the loop; the last to know. She remembered that meeting days ago, and she wondered if she would finally find out what it was about.

"I don't want to tell you over the phone," he replied quickly. "I need to see you."

Lexie nodded slowly. "Okay…" She wracked her brain, trying to think about what he might be so happy about, but she couldn't think. "I'll, uh, I'll head down to the subway and meet you at—"

"Don't," he interrupted. "Don't take the subway."

She sighed. "Jackson, I'll be fine, I'm—"

"I'll pick you up."

Lexie shook her head, cradling her phone between her shoulder and ear as she grabbed her coat and purse. "Don't waste your money on a taxi, Jackson. I'll take the subway, it's just a couple bucks. I'm already out the door—"

"Okay, then just come downstairs," he cut in smoothly. She could swear he was still smiling on the other side of the line. She couldn't imagine what was making him so happy. It was such a strange emotion for him to exude in such copious quantities for such an extended period of time.

"I'll be there in a minute," she answered, just before hanging up the phone. She spent a couple moments finding a pair of shoes to slip on over her socks, and after making sure she had her phone and wallet in her purse, she stepped outside the apartment and headed down the stairs. She hadn't exactly known what she was expecting, transportation-wise, but it went more along the lines of something small and yellow, not long and black.

.

Lexie actually stopped where she was walking on the sidewalk as she watched the limo pull up to the curb. _It's not for me, _she thought at once. Jackson was nearly as frugal as she was, and there was no way he'd waste money on something so stupid, useless, and overpriced.

But then there he was, rolling down the window, sticking his head out, and wondering with a grin what she was standing there staring at.

She took a second to glare at him before calling out. "I tell you not to waste money on a cab and you come to pick me up in a _limo, _Jackson Avery? What the hell is up with you?"

He grinned, amused at her outrage. "Get in already, would you?"

Lexie looked around, resisting the urge to stamp her foot angrily like a child before stalking towards the door. "I have no idea why you thought this was a good idea," she muttered, climbing inside. "This thing costs more than—"

Her voice cut off as his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her inside, with the door falling shut behind them. She barely had time to catch her breath, let alone look around, before he was kissing her. She gasped in surprise, but soon melted into the kiss as he reached up and framed her face carefully with his hands as she fell into his lap. The tips of his fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her closer and closer, and for a while, she forgot what was happening. He felt so warm and familiar, and if she forgot the unacknowledged texts and the weeks of silence, she was able to imagine he was someone else.

Finally, their kiss broke. Jackson leaned his forehead against hers, murmuring softly, "I love you." Lexie smiled reflexively at his words, but her first instinct was not to reply in kind. Quietly, she eased off of him, moving to sit across from him as she wondered, "What's all this about? Spill," she added with a smile.

Jackson grinned, revealing those bright white teeth in a smile that lit up those green eyes she'd always loved since the night they'd met. "I'm lawyer, Lex." He whispered the words like they were a secret.

She smiled, placing her hand atop his palm as she replied, just as quietly, "Yes, Jackson, I know." Her voice returned to its normal decibel, "I was there, remember, when you found out you'd passed the bar."

He smirked, his eyes looking her up and down. _That _had been a long night. He shook his head now, though, and squeezed her hand with his. "No," he explained patiently, pulling her closer so they were both on the edge of their seats, "I mean it, Lex. I'm a lawyer now."

Very slowly, her eyes went incredibly wide as she struggled to process this news. "You… You…" She swallowed, at a loss for words. He didn't bother interrupting—he wanted to see her come to the conclusion herself. A moment later, her face broke out in a bright smile. "You're kidding me!" She nearly shouted, her eyes wide and happy. "You're—You're—" Without a word, she moved forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. She couldn't remember feeling so happy for him, despite the night he got the bar results and the first day he went to work at Morgan & Shaw.

"Oh my god," she whispered, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she sat back. "Oh my god. I can't believe this. When did this happen? You're—"

"I'm a lawyer," he whispered, taking both her hands in his. "A real lawyer." He couldn't help but grin. "None of this you're-an-intern-but-we'll-be-nice-and-call-you-an-associate shit. They're making me part of the firm, permanently." He pulled back, and stroked her cheeks as he stared into her eyes. "God, Lex—" He burst out laughing, and pulled her into his arms again, bringing her body flush against his. "I wanted to tell you weeks ago. I wanted to tell you the second they told me, but I had to promise I wouldn't until everything was cemented and all the formalities finished." He grinned, pulling back to look her in the eye. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"No more leftover nights?" She smiled, reaching for his hand and folding her fingers in between his. She pretended to pout. "But I liked leftover nights."

He smiled, and lifted their joined hands to his mouth for a kiss. "It means I have a real paycheck, an _actual _paycheck. And a _real _job, with a salary and a bonus and vacation days and security… We can finally move out of that shithole of an apartment…" He closed his eyes, and opened them slowly. "I don't know how to tell you," he whispered, "how happy I am."

Lexie smiled, tracing the curve of his cheek with her fingers. "You don't have to tell me," she whispered back. "I know. I understand."

His eyes studied her for a silent minute. "Do you?" He wondered softly.

She nodded. "Of course."

"So you understand—what this means for us? What it means for our future?"

Lexie smiled again. "I already told you—no more leftover nights."

He didn't quite smile back this time. "I'm serious, Lexie." He looked into her eyes, pausing a moment before letting her know, "I'm talking about the rest of our lives here, baby."

Lexie didn't speak. When she tried to swallow, a lump got stuck in her throat. She watched him as he took a deep breath. She felt him let go of her hand, watched as it shifted, reaching into the pocket of his pants. "I wanted to wait until dinner," he began softly, pulling his hand back, with something clutched inside his fist, "but I can't. I can't wait any longer." He swallowed, and Lexie watched his Adam's apple bob before his luminous green eyes found hers. His next sentence silenced any words that might've previously been able to escape from between her lips. "I was actually going to ask you the night of our anniversary," he murmured softly, like it was an inconsequential detail, "but now I'm glad I waited."

The admission made her head spin. She could barely breathe, let alone think.

"I'm sick of the way our lives have been these past few months," he began quietly. "I never see you. We never talk. And I…" He took a deep breath. "I know that's my fault, I know it's because I've been at work all the time. I _know_ that, Lex. And I'm sorry. I really am, baby. But…" He blinked slowly at her, and Lexie wondered if he was pausing for effect or to find the right words. She could barely breathe, but she had enough brainpower to wonder if he'd rehearsed this. Something told her he did, and she tried not to feel it when another crack rocked its way through the fragile surface of her heart.

"But all that has been building up to something, hasn't it? It's been building up to this, to tonight, and now that we've reached it, well, I know it was all worth it." He smiled faintly at her; it flickered a bit due to nerves. "I hope you do, too, because… I couldn't have done any of it without you. I can't do anything without you, baby. I love you." He whispered the last few words, and Lexie tried to find it in herself to stop him. She knew she had to; she couldn't let him keep going. It would only get worse; so much worse. She tried to form the words, tried to open her mouth… but nothing happened. She was frozen: in shock, in fear… with the guilt rising over her like a drowning wave.

"There is a very real possibility that it will only get harder from now on," Jackson continued quietly, oblivious to her inner struggle. "I know that. I'm aware of it. And as much as I wish it wasn't true, I can't change that fact just by wishing and hoping. I can't change reality. But I can… I _will _make the best of it. And you're the best." He smiled, nervous and excited now, too, at the same time. "You're the best part of my life, Lex. The best part of me. You've always been the best part, always. And I love you. I really, really love you."

Lexie watched, frozen, as he unclenched his fist and revealed the small, black jewelry box nestled there. "Alexandra Grey, will you marry me?"

She shut her eyes as he opened the box, finding herself suddenly wishing he'd confronted her with knowledge about Mark instead of a ring. That would, in comparison, be so much easier to discuss. Dreading what was about to come with her entire being, Lexie slowly opened her eyes and readied herself to admit the truth she'd—against all odds—kept hidden for so long.

.

.

**_But it was not your fault, but mine._**

**_And it was your heart on the line._**

**_I really fucked it up this time, d_****_idn't I, my dear?_**

**_Didn't I, my dear?_**

_._

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_Author's Note__: I apologize for the cliffhanger. Things will be cleared up immediately in the next chapter._

_PS__: I have to applaud you guys. A couple of you wondered if Jackson was going to propose at their anniversary dinner… Well, he was. One of the best wonderings came from LexieMcSteamy on FFN. I just loved how she phrased it: "_**I almost wonder if Jackson was planning to propose. That seems like something he would do. Propose to the woman who's cheating on him.**" _I just loved how that was phrased; it was perfect. Thank you for that._

_I hope you guys are excited for the next chapter. I promise I won't keep you waiting too long._

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	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

Slexiefeels: Jackson was honestly just so excited for the promotion that he couldn't help himself. And like he said, he'd meant to propose weeks ago. He couldn't keep waiting, no matter the circumstances, not when the perfect moment arose. Like a lot of people, he figured getting married would smooth out all of their problems. Mark wasn't around at the end of this chapter; he wasn't included in this chapter at all for a reason. I promise he'll be back, but he wasn't in this chapter. Thank you for explaining your name change; I appreciate that. As always, thank you for your review! I hope you like this chapter. :)

Author's Note: I promised I'd update soon, didn't I? :) I hope you all enjoy this!

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By Friday night, Mark had had it. In fact, he'd had it two weeks ago, after he smashed his phone against the wall. He'd had it after he'd foolishly told her he was in love with her, only to watch her leave and go home to _him _while Mark was left alone.

He'd like to believe that that night never happened—that it was a figment of his imagination—but the ruined scraps and cracked glass of his phone told a different story. He stared at that heap of dented metal and smashed glass the next morning, not even able to muster enough energy to sigh. He'd have to get a new phone immediately, despite the fact that he wished he could survive without one. He couldn't take any more of her damn texts.

He contemplated blocking her number while he spent the morning at the nearest Verizon store, but in the end, when the clerk asked him if he had any more questions or needed help with anything else, Mark stayed silent. The truth was, he didn't want to stop hearing from her. Even if it was stoic texts or booty calls, he still wanted to hear her voice and stay in contact with her.

He wanted to communicate with her so badly, in fact, that he nearly texted her the moment his new phone was working. He had thought up an entire message—just letting her know that he had a new phone and a new number—before he realized that he, in fact, did not have a new number. And merely texting her to say he had a new phone was one of the most pathetic things he could've done. It was the weakest of booty calls, for he didn't even have the balls to ask her for what he really wanted.

What he wanted, of course, was out of the question. How could he ask her to love him after she'd ignored him like that? How could he ask her to be with him again without dredging up all those painful, one-sided feelings? He didn't know how he'd be able to look her in the eyes again without blurting out the fact that he loved her again. That would only force her away, and the last thing he wanted was to be separated from her.

He shut his eyes. He had no idea what to do.

His wished desperately he could run away like a child, but he knew that option was off-limits. He had a life here, a job and a practice, and people who depended on him. And he had her.

He couldn't leave if there was even the remotest chance that she still wanted him. So he waited. He went to work, he came home, and he stared at his phone until he fell asleep.

And everywhere he went, he saw her.

.

.

Outside of teaching her kids and professional niceties at work, Lexie Grey hadn't spoken to anyone since she'd last spoken with Jackson. Even at school, she knew she was being quieter than usual. She was actually surprised her no-filter third-graders hadn't asked what was wrong with her yet. Usually they were rather perceptive about things like that, and not old enough yet to have learned to hold their tongues. She supposed they were all too preoccupied with the upcoming break and the arrival of Santa, though, to pay attention to the subdued and somber quality in which their teacher now lived her life.

Sometimes, Lexie wondered what it would've been like if she'd gone back to school on that Monday wearing a ring. She could imagine all her coworkers exclaiming, wanting to know when and how it happened. One of the little girls in her class would notice, and then all of them would be clamoring for a look while all the boys stuck out their tongues and proclaimed it "Gross!"

_Alexandra Grey, will you marry me?_

Lexie shut her eyes, forcing the memories away. She'd spent much too long dwelling on each and every moment of that long night; she couldn't think about it anymore.

She hadn't told anyone yet. Both her sister and father had called to wish her a merry Christmas, and both times, Lexie had stooped to lies over the truth. Lying was becoming quite a habit of hers, she realized sadly after she hung up the phone on her sister, who she had assured just a moment ago that she'd have a good holiday with her boyfriend.

She knew why she hadn't told either of them—it was because she didn't want to explain the circumstances behind the break-up—but that wasn't really an excuse when it came to family. She was happy, at the very least, that her mother wasn't alive anymore. If it was true that the dead looked down on the living from heaven, Lexie never wanted to know what her mother thought of her latest indiscretions. If she hadn't already passed away, these past few months would've no doubt made her die of shame. She was probably rolling in her grave right now.

For the first time in as long as Lexie could remember, she spent Christmas alone. No family, no boyfriend, no presents, and no tree. Her family had been expecting her to stay in New York with Jackson over the holiday like she'd done the last couple years, so they hadn't even bothered to invite her home because the already knew what the answer would be. As she sat alone on the morning of the twenty-fifth, staring out the window with a cup of tepid tea in her hand, Lexie wished she had said something. She didn't even have to tell the truth; she could've just said that they'd broken up and her sister would spend the day holding her hand and comforting her. Her dad would say he never liked 'that guy' anyway (even though he had, a lot), and maybe Lexie would find it in herself to laugh a little bit. She'd be with her family, and it was Christmas, and maybe she'd learn how to enjoy herself despite everything.

Instead, she hadn't told a soul what had happened. Instead, she sat alone on Christmas morning in an empty, now half-furnished apartment, and nursed a mug of tea she'd long ago let go cold. In her loneliest, most desperate moments, Lexie imagined calling Mark. So he didn't answer her texts; whatever. Maybe he'd answer her calls. Maybe he'd pity her and keep her warm for a few hours as a parting gift before he went off and found someone new and exciting, a Lexie 2.0.

But like all her other plans that had surfaced post-break-up, that one didn't come to fruition, either.

.

.

It had been thirty-two days since Mark had last spoken to her. In that time, she had only texted him twice, the very night they'd last been together. He'd never responded, though his eyes roamed over those words and his thumb hesitated over her contact button on his phone more frequently than he cared to admit. In those thirty-two days, Santa had come and gone, a new year had rolled around, and Mark was again alone, just like before.

Differing from his previous circumstances, he wasn't alone by choice this time. And he wasn't screwing around. Despite the fact that he was sure she'd screwed her boyfriend at least once—if not many times—in the last thirty-two days, Mark hadn't slept with another woman except her since… since they'd met.

He shut his eyes as the memory floated up to torture him again.

_I think I'm in love with you, Lexie_.

It seemed like every time he remembered, the memory grew stronger and clearer, instead of fading like he wished it would. Her silence became exponentially more deafening each time he recalled his own unrequited sentiments, for it was so horribly clear that she didn't feel anything for him at all. If she had, she would've said something.

He wished he could stop feeling what he felt for her, but it was impossible. He couldn't help himself; he couldn't help the fact that he was in love with her. He'd spent the last few weeks trying to forget—trying to erase the memories, the feelings, trying to do away with all the hopes and wishes—but it was impossible. It seemed like everywhere he went, she was there. He knew it wasn't really _her, _of course, but it didn't matter. Any woman with dark hair, any woman walking alone, any woman with that confident look in her eyes—was Lexie. He saw her at least five times a day: walking down the street, hailing a cab, talking on her phone, carting luggage to a hotel, or having lunch at a nearby bistro. The worst was when he saw her in his patients. For a half-second he would freeze, remembering her, remembering her first appointment, remembering everything that followed… Once he realized it wasn't her, of course, he'd have to make apologies and focus extra hard on the not-Lexie in front of him. If he let his mind wander for even a moment, he would be back with her, pressed against a door, or rolling around in bed, or eating a late dinner in his apartment. The worst was when his arms were wrapped around her and he was whispering into her hair.

_I think I'm in love with you, Lexie._

All thoughts of her, inevitably, led back to that night. Whenever he had a spare moment where he wasn't completely focused on surgery or a patient—the only things that really consumed his mind these days—he thought of her. When he was struggling to get to sleep at night, he thought of her. He thought of her a hundred times during a single day, and each thought was just one more twist of the knife that had been thrust inside him the second she chose not to say _I love you _back.

.

.

Mark was on his lunch break on Wednesday when he saw her—when he actually saw _her_. Black hair, wind-whipped cheeks, active eyes… This time, he was sure it was her. It had to be. Mark didn't even say "excuse me" to the waiter that was approaching before he jumped to his feet and practically sprinted down the street.

He was shouting her name before he was really even cognizant he'd opened his mouth. He watched her head turn, saw her brows furrow, and then watched as both her mouth and eyes widened with shock.

"Lexie!" He called again. He couldn't help but grin when he caught up to her, realizing that it really was her this time. It seemed like something akin to a miracle that she'd walked past him when she did. What was she doing so far uptown; how had she managed to walk by just as he was sitting down to lunch? "Wow," he managed, not knowing what else to say. She looked so beautiful. Suddenly, he didn't care that she hadn't said _I love you _back. He didn't care if she was still with that stupid boyfriend. Suddenly, all he wanted was to talk with her, look at her. All he wanted was to be around her, and somehow, she'd answered his prayer. "What are you doing up here?"

To his surprise, Lexie pushed past him immediately, barely replying before going on her way. "I'm not here for you," was all she said.

Despite what common sense was telling him, Mark followed after her. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. He'd gotten the smallest taste of a reunion with her, but it was not enough—not _nearly _enough—and he wanted more. "Lexie!" He called after her as she started to walk away. She moved surprisingly quickly; he had to jog a bit to catch up. Just when he reached her, she whirled around, looking angrier than he'd ever seen her.

"Stop it!" She barked, her eyes flashing. "Stop! What are you trying to do to me?"

Mark's eyebrows drew together at her question, momentarily thrown off guard. "What… are you talking about?"

Lexie let out an angry sigh, and Mark got the impression that she'd been holding in whatever she was about to say for a long time. From the look in her eyes, he knew it wouldn't be something he wanted to hear. "You haven't spoken to me in over four weeks," she began, her voice surprisingly calm and measured. "You haven't called, you haven't texted, you haven't asked how I _am_ or—"

"Asked how you are?" Mark cut in, smirking slightly at the mundane query. "Lex, since when have we wasted time asking how each other are?"

Lexie stared at him for a long minute before slowly shaking her head. The humor drained out of Mark's face as he watched her; she seemed to be taking this all so much more seriously than he was, and he was sure that wouldn't bode well for him in the near future. "I knew it," she whispered, her voice so quiet she might've been speaking to herself instead of him. "I knew you didn't care. All of this—" She broke off, sucking in a gasp for a breath. Mark was startled to see tears in her eyes. "Jesus, all of this has been for nothing."

He stared at her in shock for a second. Wasn't that his line? What did she have to be devastated about; didn't she have everything she wanted? He opened his mouth to wonder, asking, "Lexie—"

She cut him off immediately. "Leave me alone, Mark." Her glare was sharp enough to send weaker men running in the opposite direction, but Mark didn't move. He was rooted to the spot, confused and foolishly hopeful.

"Hey," he began quietly, hoping to keep her around for a moment more, "what's going on with you?"

"I said, leave me alone, Mark." She hugged her coat tighter to her body, and Mark knew it was a sign she was preparing to leave. He couldn't let her go. How would he find her again?

No," he replied firmly. "You don't get to dismiss me like that with no explanation." He paused, and put his hand on her arm. "Lexie," he murmured, tugging on her lightly. "What's happened?"

Lexie wanted to ignore him. She wanted to be strong and walk away and not let his momentary concern for her cloud her judgment. She knew the moment he realized she was unattached, he'd lose interest. She knew the moment she fell into another sobbing fit, he'd be looking for the quickest exit, and she'd be left alone—_all alone. _She chewed on her lip. But what else was she supposed to do? She couldn't lie to him. She could lie to everyone else but not to him. And if she was honest with herself for a moment, she would admit that she was craving his company and any and all comfort he might offer her. She took a deep breath, looking into his eyes for a slow moment. She knew this would be one of her last chances to spend time with him, fleeting as it would be, so she took the time to memorize his features before they disappeared from her mind.

"He asked me to marry him," she admitted quietly, looking at the dirty pavement beneath their feet, unable to look him in the eye.

Mark's response was just as subdued as her statement. "You said yes," he replied at once, trying not to care even though the pain of hearing those words was so much worse than her earlier silence. _So this is the end. _Even though he'd known for a long while that this was a potential dénouement to their twisted story of lies and lust and foolish, juvenile love, Mark would be lying if he said he wasn't shocked. He had thought—foolishly and naively, he now realized—that he had meant something to her. But, as he always seemed to do with her, he was reading too much into it. He loved her, he knew that. But that didn't mean she loved him back. That didn't mean she wasn't still in love with someone else.

When he focused on her again, Mark was surprised to see her mouth hanging open in shock. "_Yes_?" She repeated loudly. Lexie wasn't able to believe he'd even think that. "Why would I say yes? _How, _Mark, _how _could I say yes? With you here—" She broke off, biting her lower lip. She would not be so pathetic as to admit that he was the reason she'd said no. She would—if it was possible—escape one relationship unscathed. Weakly, she wondered at last, her eyes pleading with his to understand her hidden message, "Mark," she whispered, "how could I ever have said yes?"

Mark folded his arms in front of him, looking annoyed at her answer for reasons Lexie couldn't even begin to fathom. What had she done wrong now? "It's simple, Lex. You just say _yes_."

"Well, I didn't," she replied. He watched her suck in a breath, her eyes closing momentarily before she continued: "I didn't say yes; I said no."

Mark couldn't help himself. Hearing those words—hearing her say she'd told her boyfriend no—made him nearly lightheaded with happiness. He felt practically delirious, he was that relieved. He didn't even bother asking why she'd said no. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she'd done so. He came down long enough from his high just to see the muscles of her throat constrict as she swallowed.

"I said no," she repeated, looking oddly close to tears, "and I… I broke his heart."

Mark, still overrun with euphoria from her answer, couldn't hold back the automatic derision that came so naturally to him. "He has one?" He wondered with a laugh, his blue eyes bright and full of mirth. "That's news to me."

The words were barely out of his mouth before she started screaming. Mark knew, afterwards, that he should've handled that moment with a little more tact, but he just wasn't capable of it at the time.

"Shut up!" Lexie screeched at once, her voice so shrill that it sent a chill up his spine. He was sure it did the same to some of the passers-by on the street, but he didn't avert his eyes from hers to check. "Shut up, you asshole, you bastard, you life-ruiner, just _SHUT UP_!" She'd taken a step towards him with each insult, and now they were nearly nose-to-nose.

Mark had to focus very hard so as to not reach forward and kiss her. He didn't want to get punched in the face and, at this point, he wouldn't put such violence past her. Quietly, he told her, "Don't try to blame your failed relationship on me, Lexie. It's not my fault that you—"

"You kissed _ME _in that exam room, Mark!" She shouted. "It is _absolutely _your fault!"

"Pardon me," he replied, "but if my memory stands, it was _you _who was begging me for more. It was _you _down on your knees in that supply closet in a goddamn _elementary school. _It was _you, _Lex, who was so desperate that—"

His vitriol was silenced when her palm cracked across his face with a degree of pain Mark had never felt from a woman before. His head snapped to the side from the blow, and it took him almost half a minute to right himself again.

Lexie was seething with fury in front of him when he was able to face her again. She was literally shaking with rage. "Don't you _ever _talk to me like that again," she ordered, her voice shaking with anger even though it sounded a bit watery. There looked to be tears swimming in her eyes, but he was certain those were just tears of anger, like the tremor in her voice—why would she have any reason to cry over him, anyway? Since when did she care about him? She'd made it clear that he was nothing more than a cock for her pleasure.

She stepped back, hiking her purse high up on her shoulder like it was armor she could utilize to protect herself from him. "Don't call me," she ordered. "Don't come to the school. Don't come to my apartment—" She broke off, sniffing quickly, but soon continued, "I don't ever want to see you again. You understand me? I want nothing to do with you. Go back to whatever you were doing before I came along and we ruined each other's lives."

She stepped away without another word and fled down the street.

Mark watched her go, not being able to think of a single thing he could say that would bring her back.

After what felt like an hour (but could have well been just a couple seconds), Mark turned around and headed back the way he'd come. He walked straight past the restaurant he'd abruptly left and slowly made his way back to the office. He knew he had a thirty-minute walk ahead of him, but he didn't mind. The walk would give him solitude, and time to think—about what she'd said, what he'd said, and everything that had been left out.

By the time he reached the practice, his break was nearly over. If he wanted to, he knew he could take another hour off—or a day or a week or month. The patients would still be there when he got back, albeit a tad disgruntled, and his receptionists would be grateful for the break. He knew all this, but still he walked through the doors and went back to work. He needed something to take his mind off of her, and it was a pity he worked where he did. Every exam room he walked into—even his office—was filled with memories of her.

By the time the practice closed and he went home, dusk had long ago fallen. Their fight seemed both as if it had occurred a lifetime ago and a moment ago. He could still recall every word she'd said with perfect clarity, and her final parting shots were still ringing in his ears. _Go back to whatever you were doing before I came along and we ruined each other's lives._

He was ashamed to admit it now, but the truth was that he had been doing _nothing_ before she came along. He _was _nothing before her—just a two-bit plastic surgeon who took more pleasure with his cock than a scalpel. But then she'd walked in and she'd changed everything. For better or for worse, she'd changed it all.

And he had let her walk away—no pleas, no arguments—just like that.

How had he ever let her go?

.

Lexie barely slept the night after she ran into Mark on the street. She tossed, she turned, she threw off the blankets and then pulled them back on. She went to get a glass of water, she went to the bathroom, and she turned on the TV until her eyes drooped. But when she headed back to bed, she was wide awake again, reliving their chance encounter on the street for what had to be the fifteenth time today.

She still couldn't believe that had happened. _I guess it's just my luck, _Lexie thought, still unsure if she was full of good luck or bad. It had been both wonderful and terrible to see him again. He looked just as handsome as ever, but clearly he'd grown meaner and sourer during their time apart. Lexie couldn't understand that. What did he have to gain by making mocking her, and Jackson, and then insulting her to her face? Why did he even care enough to be mean anymore? Hadn't he moved on by now? It had been over a month; he should've certainly found someone new to fool around with in her absence and forgotten all about their affair.

Lexie hated the way her insides twisted when she thought like that. More than that, though, she hated the _fact _that her insides twisted. She had no right to feel that way about him, to feel _any _way about him. More to the point, _he _didn't feel that way about her—or feel anything for her—so why should she bother worrying over feelings that were sure to be unrequited?

It was because she cared too much.

She knew that; she'd known it for a long while, now. It was the reason she kept coming back to him; it was the reason she said no to Jackson. She cared too much for another man and she couldn't keep lying about it anymore; couldn't keep hiding it. Her feelings for Mark had taken over her mind, her life, so much so that no matter what she was doing or who she was talking to, she would be able to associate it with Mark in some way. And then she'd feel her lungs constrict a bit too tightly, and she'd quickly try to steer her mind away from him… but of course that wouldn't last for too long.

Even now, as she lay sleepless in bed, Lexie's mind was filled with him. It wasn't of their fight, though; no, it was of a much more peaceful time. A time she couldn't believe even existed now. Ashamed for indulging herself but content because there was no one around to know, Lexie closed her eyes and remembered.

_"You'll tell me if I need to stop, won't you, baby?"_

Lexie squeezed her eyes shut tight, ignoring the tears that escaped out of the corners. If she closed them hard enough, she could not only hear his voice in her head, but she could also hear him whispering right in her ear. If she let herself drift for a moment, she could pretend she was back in his apartment, with his large mattress beneath her and his strong body above her.

Lexie Grey shivered in her small apartment on her old, worn bed, pushing the back of her head against the pillow. _Mark… _She almost whispered his name. He had started slipping away the moment she became conscious of where she really was, and she couldn't take that. She needed him here with her, if only in her mind and memory.

_"Are you not going to let me kiss you, Lex?"_

A smile flickered up onto Lexie's lips as her hands twitched at her sides. She remembered that moment with perfect clarity; more so than the rest of the night. She loved that moment.

She had loved him in that moment.

Lexie's eyes blinked open at once, not more than a half-second after that errant thought passed through her brain. Already, the rational side of her was making excuses. _You're too tired, _her brain told her. _You don't know what you're thinking._

_And you fought with him this afternoon, remember? You don't fight with the people you love, not like that._

_You don't love him. Not him. You can't._

Lexie clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling the sobs that were already beginning to escape. Before she could even grasp what was happening, she was doubled over, curled up in the fetal position as the tears ran hot and fast down her cheeks.

_You hate him, remember? He ignored you for four weeks. You don't love someone who treats you like that._

_You don't fall in love someone you start an affair with. You aren't allowed to; that isn't how the world works._

Lexie shook her head back and forth to ward off the thoughts in her head. She wondered, as the sobs wracked her body, how a person could be so mean, even to herself. She knew she was a mean person. After what she'd done to Jackson, that much was abundantly clear. But she couldn't believe how mean she could be to herself. She didn't understand why her mind was being so vindictive, but she supposed it was only par for the course. She wondered how she'd gotten this far in life without developing some kind of mental problem, or horribly low self-esteem, but she supposed she had enough problems already.

"I miss you, Mark," she whispered aloud. When she took a breath and it caught in her throat, she knew she couldn't vocalize the rest. So she shut her eyes, pressed the side of her head firmly against the pillow, and thought as earnestly as she could to make up for her silence. _I love you, Mark._

She bit down on her lower lip hard, but it didn't do anything. The tears still fell and her lip stung as the salt from her tears mixed with the fresh cuts.

She knew it would be another long night, just like every other.

.

.

.

Lexie nearly jumped out of her skin when she stepped out of her apartment the next morning. Standing there, waiting just a few feet from the doorway, was Mark Sloan. She didn't know whether to run away or run into his arms.

"I just came to talk," he assured her at once. He spoke quickly, as if he knew she would bolt given half a chance. He gave her a sheepish smile, glancing up at her building as he pulled on his ear nervously. "I, uh, I actually didn't know if you still lived here. I was a little worried I might run into him instead," he added with a bleak laugh.

Lexie didn't laugh back. She didn't even smile. "He left me the apartment," she replied in a monotone. "It was paid up for the next few months so he left it with me." She blinked, her eyes falling from Mark's to the ground. She'd just realized she had no idea where Jackson was. She knew he was in the city—he had to be—but there were hundreds of streets he could be walking on, millions of apartments he could've found for himself. She suddenly wondered if he'd found someone new by now. Maybe he was living with the nameless _her._ It had been nearly a month, after all. She shut her eyes; no, she knew he hadn't moved on yet. She knew it would take him a long time. God, she was a terrible person.

"That was… nice of him," Mark state awkwardly, trying to break the silence. "I guess," he muttered as an annoyed afterthought, not wanting to give the other man too much credit.

Lexie's dark eyes flashed up to his. "_Yes_," she practically growled, "it _was _nice of him."

Mark held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. It was nice. He's nice."

Lexie looked away, but Mark didn't miss her hands swiping just beneath her eyes. It nearly made him give up. If she was still crying over the boyfriend she'd turned down, what chance did he have? Especially when Mark knew her feelings for him were nowhere near as strong as his for her? He shook his head quickly. No, he'd have to try. He couldn't leave it like it had been left yesterday and every day before.

"I came to talk with you," he reminded her quietly. He watched as she brushed her nose before returning her gaze to his. He looked into her eyes, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Nonetheless, he went on. "You… You remember that last night between us, don't you? The last time we were together, when we stood out and looked down on the city together?"

Mark's eyes examined her, trying to gauge her reaction, but he didn't see any surprise or anger or hate… and no love, either. All he could see was that her body had gone incredibly rigid. She was staring up at him, looking as if she were carved out of stone. He hoped it wasn't a precursor to another screaming match.

"I held you out there," he continued, his voice growing quieter and more hoarse as he continued. "I held you and I kissed your hair and I…" He paused, and she could hear him breathe in the silence that followed. His intake of air was shaky, his voice was even less sturdy. Lexie couldn't move a muscle, not before he spoke the last few words and not after. "I told you I loved you, Lexie."

_WHAT?_

Those words rammed into Lexie like head-on collision with a semi, and she thought she might faint just from hearing them. What was he talking about? He _loved _her? And he had _told her _that night? When? How? She couldn't remember that happening. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Did her lungs still work? Had she died and gone to hell? …Or heaven? She had no time to decide, because already he was continuing and it was both the most wonderful thing she had ever heard and the most terrible. Even Mark looked pained when he spoke. She wondered briefly what sort of people they were, that confessions of love were such painful, traumatic ordeals.

"The only reason I mention it," he continued, "is because I wanted your answer." He swallowed, looking away for a moment. "I do understand that silence is an answer in and of itself—trust me, I heard you loud and clear the first time—but I can't take that answer, Lexie. Not anymore." His eyes had returned to hers, and she saw a desperate plea in them, though she couldn't understand how he thought he had to _ask _for something like this.

Though she'd only come to terms with it after they'd been apart, Lexie Grey estimated that she'd fallen in love with Mark Sloan many months ago. Maybe it was when he'd taken the time to cook her dinner, maybe it was when he'd given her a tour of his apartment, maybe it was when… It could've started at a hundred different moments. All Lexie knew for sure was that that last night with him cemented her feelings; made them so real she'd almost spoken them aloud.

She had tried, in her babbling and fumbling way, to tell him just that. She'd tried to say _Mark, I love you, _but the words hadn't come. She couldn't say them, and she couldn't imagine why at the time. She'd like to have said it was Jackson holding her back, but she knew it was just because she was scared. Scared of rejection, scared of being in love with two people at once, scared of eventually having to choose… No, she had been more than scared—terrified.

But that didn't mean she hadn't felt it. She had. She'd loved him.

And looking at him now, talking with him, she suddenly knew she still did. That was what the sleepless nights were about, the sobbing fits and 2 AM, and the silence she'd been living her life in. It wasn't because of Jackson—though she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him—it was because of Mark.

Her eyes flew to his. She had no idea how she hadn't pieced this together earlier, but she supposed she needed the right person to come along and point it out to her. She still loved him. And she wouldn't stop loving him for a long time, if her stupid heart and overworked tear ducts and anything to say about it.

She knew he had wanted an answer from her, but she couldn't focus on that right now. She was still wrapping her mind around the fact that he had said he loved her—_he loved her_—and she hadn't heard it. When had this happened? How had she missed it?

.

Mark was staring at her intently, his eyes barely blinking, as he waited for the judgment she'd serve him. The longer the silence went on, the more sure he was that she didn't love him. She was just trying to find a polite way to let him down, because, contrary to what she seemed to think of herself, she could be nice sometimes too.

He watched as her wide, worried eyes rose to his, and he realized this was the end. He closed his, squeezing them shut tight. Well, what more could he have expected, really? She'd made it clear that she only wanted an affair from him—what right had he had to go and develop feelings for her? He'd put her in one of the most awkward and uncomfortable situations imaginable, and now he was making her say it out loud.

God, he was such an ass.

He was just about to open his mouth to tell her not to worry about it when she spoke.

"When?" She croaked.

"When?" He repeated after a moment, thrown off-guard. "When what?"

"When… When did you say—" her face broke into the happiest smile for a split-second "—say you loved me?"

Mark frowned, not quite knowing how to respond to that. On the one had, she'd smiled so big just now speaking of how he loved her, but on the other—she hadn't remembered? No. How could she forget? He looked down, puzzling this out for a few seconds. Even if she didn't remember the exact words somehow, how had she not realized afterwards? He'd taken her to bed that final time with the intent to prove that he meant it. He'd tried to make love to her.

Obviously, he'd failed.

Mark supposed he should've seen this coming. He'd never loved a woman before. He shook his head, returning his gaze to her. Why did he have to fall in love with _her_? Wasn't their relationship already complicated enough without feelings like love involved?

"We were on the balcony," he answered softly, not knowing why he was taking the time to explain. He began so suddenly that Lexie felt she was behind on the explanation even from the start. She supposed that, in a way, she was. "You were standing in front of me, and I was holding you…" He forced a breath; in, out. "I kissed your hair and I said—" He shut his eyes. He'd thought these words so many times since he'd first voiced them, and each time he'd been pretending to look into her eyes. But now that he was faced with her, he couldn't. He'd always known he was a coward. "I said, _I think I'm in love with you, Lexie._" Mark drew a breath, finally opening his eyes. Lexie looked incredibly stunned standing before him, but he didn't pause for her answer. He couldn't take any more silence. "You didn't say anything," he reported, as if she'd had amnesia and he was trying to recount every little detail to her. He supposed it was just another excuse to torture himself; he seemed to love doing that these days. "I waited, but you didn't say a word. So," he cleared his throat, "I took you back to bed. I knew that was where we worked best, where we really understood each other, and I was hoping—I don't know—that I might be able to… _show you _how I felt. Maybe if you wouldn't accept words, you'd accept… how I could make you feel.

"So I brought you to bed and I wrapped you in my arms and I… I made love to you, Lexie." He frowned slightly while he said that, like he was embarrassed for simultaneously voicing that term 'making love' aloud and also being a man. "I didn't fuck you," he continued a moment later, "we didn't screw—not in an exam room, not in a supply closet, not against a door, and not in your boyfriend's bed… I took you into _my _bed in _my _home and I showed you what you meant to me. Lexie, I… I made love to you." He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes as he shook his head. Admitting all this exhausted him. It took so much more than he had ever expected. Stupidly, he had thought all this would be easy. Wasn't it simple? Didn't a guy just say the words "_I love you_" and that was it, the girl came running? Why was it so hard for them? Why did saying all of this make his chest constrict and his eyes burn? Why did it feel like the cruelest torture?

"And then you left," he finished flatly. "You left and you went home to him like it meant absolutely _nothing_. Which, I guess, I now know it did. For you, at least," he added softly, not wanting to sound like he was accusing her.

"No… Nothing?" Lexie managed, finally having found her voice. She felt something prick her eyes, felt tears well up in them. It hadn't meant nothing; not to her. It had meant so much. Those memories of their last time together were the only things that helped her to sleep and stopped her tears these days. They were they only thing that had kept her together while everything had fallen apart around her. "It didn't… It didn't… didn't mean noth…"

"It's okay," Mark cut in quietly. "You don't need to make excuses, Lex." He smiled kindly at her, but she didn't want smiles or kindness from him. She wanted to understand. "I get it. I can fuck your brains out well enough, but when it comes to making love—" he grimaced again "—I just can't hack it." He forced another smile. "It's fine. A guy can't be good at everything," he joked weakly.

It took her a few seconds to find her voice, but finally she replied, "No. No, you were good. Mark, you were amazing, you—" She broke off, her eyes flying down. In her rush to make him understand, and to understand herself, she'd grabbed his hand. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked up. He was staring down at her with an intensity she'd rarely seen him employ.

She took a breath, suddenly decided.

Slowly, she twisted her hand in his so their fingers lined up and their knuckles fit between one another's. With her other hand she reached up, cupping his cheek. He flinched momentarily at the touch, but as she pressed her palm against his skin, she could nearly feel him melt into her in the cold air. She and he both shivered as the winter wind blew by, and all at once she understood without having to have him tell her why she couldn't remember.

"I didn't hear you," she whispered, her eyes filled with sorrow and longing and more than one apology. "When you said it, Mark, when you told me—" another smile broke across her face "—you loved me, I didn't hear you because of the wind. Do you remember hearing it roar up there?" She asked, just as her coat snapped around her with another gust.

He looked as if she'd just told him he had four months to live—devastated, shocked, speechless.

"Believe me," she whispered, unable to keep the smile off her face now that she understood, "Mark, believe me, if I'd heard, I would've said it back." She looked down, her hand sliding from his cheek to the collar of his jacket. She tugged on it sharply, bringing him close. "And don't sell yourself short," she whispered to him, "you're at the top of the list, as far as—" she blushed "—making love is concerned."

Without a word, he pulled her close in a tight hug. He buried his face into her hair, her neck as she pressed her lips against the skin just below his ear. As they held each other in the cold, Lexie felt tears prick her eyes. Even though the wind had roared, she couldn't understand how she hadn't heard. He had said _I love you. _Shouldn't she have been able to hear that even if she were deaf?

As if reading her thoughts, his voice rasped in her ear: "I love you, Lex."

She smiled, grinned, actually, as she pressed another kiss to his skin. "I love you back," she whispered in his ear, tugging on it lightly with her teeth before pulling back.

His eyes were shining with amusement and happiness and—she knew now—_love_ for her as they pulled back. With their hands still intertwined, he squeezed her fingers, wondering softly, "Do you want to have a do-over of that night?"

Lexie shook her head. "No," she answered softly, stepping towards him so he wouldn't misinterpret her answer. "I don't want to overwrite that night," she explained. "It was perfect the first time around… excluding me not hearing you."

He smiled, understanding. "All right, so we won't erase it. Want to do a take two, at least?"

She nodded, smiling back. "Okay." She tugged on his hand, leading the way uptown. "Take two," she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked the long way home.

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_Author's Note:__ This chapter turned out _completely _different than my first draft. Nonetheless, I'm still pretty pleased with it. I hope you all enjoyed it and are looking forward to the final chapter! :)_

_PS__: If you're worried that I cut out the end of Lexie's and Jackson's scene from the previous chapter, don't worry. You'll see the rest of it in the next chapter. I wish I could give it all to you right now, but it's always been planned to be a flashback. I'll update soon! Thank you all for reading, and please review!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

slexiefeels: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you loved this chapter so much! I really loved writing that one and I'm happy you enjoyed it so much. And yes, Lexie's sister is Molly, not Meredith. Meredith and Derek aren't in this story at all. Thank you for reviewing!

Guest: I am so glad you like this story as much as you do, and I'm really glad you think of it as something to look forward to. That means so much. As for Grey's—does _anyone_ watch it anymore? ;)

Author's Note: Thank you all so, so much for sticking with me through this story. That means so much. I have really come to love this one and I really am grateful for all of your comments and support. Thank you! Here is the final chapter. As always, please enjoy. :)

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Both Lexie and Mark's faces were wind-whipped by the time they reached his apartment uptown. Lexie's cheeks and nose were stained pink, and the edges of Mark's ears were so bitten by the chilling wind they were almost raw. Neither minded, nor really felt it, until they'd stepped inside the building. They'd walked in silence for the last three miles since they'd left Lexie's apartment. Neither had had much to say then—they were both lost in thought, in each other, in what was now reality—but now that they were inside, here in Mark's apartment building, both words and feeling in their extremities started to come back.

"I'm f—f—fucking freezing," Lexie managed through violently chattering teeth. She clenched her fingers into fists—or tried to, at least—and rubbed her arms to bring some warmth back into her body. She wasn't dressed for this sort of weather. She'd only been expecting to walk a block or two when she'd left the apartment this morning, and not the long ones. She hadn't even worn her winter coat. "S—Shit," she cursed, stamping her foot and then swearing again at the pain that shot up her leg from her nearly frostbitten toes. Her numb fingers fumbled with her phone, struggling to type in the digits.

Mark looked over at her as he cupped his hands around his mouth and blew warm air into them to bring them back to room temperature. "Who're you calling?" He muttered, making a concentrated effort not to let his voice shake.

"School," Lexie replied, glancing over at him. Without meaning to, a smile sprouted on her face. It had hit her, just now, as they stood together about to go upstairs—they were together. Officially. "I have to let them know I'm taking a sick day."

Mark grinned back, even though it hurt his frozen lips to stretch so far.

As Lexie made the call and both their bodies slowly warmed to room temperature, Mark couldn't do anything but stare at her. He knew that the him from a few weeks ago would already be ushering her to the elevator, already have her top off and her pants unbuttoned… He shook his head. Just because those three little words had been said didn't mean that everything was fixed between them. Just because she told him he'd pleased her in bed that night didn't mean he still didn't feel the overwhelming need to prove—both to himself and to her—that she'd made the right choice.

When she finished the call, Lexie turned around, surprised and happy to see his hand outstretched towards hers. Without a word, she slipped her hand within his and they walked towards the elevator in the back of the lobby. It stood open, as always, and they stepped on without either showing even a second of hesitation. They rose upwards in silence for a few seconds until Mark casually glanced over to her and was subsequently forced to do a rapid double take. She looked horribly upset—almost like she was about to cry. He felt his heart constrict in his chest painfully, and though he knew she'd want him to forget he ever saw her show that sort of emotion, he couldn't help but ask, "Are you okay, Lex?"

Her eyes snapped to his in an instant. Even quicker, she looked away, discreetly wiping her eyes. "Fine," she forced out.

Mark didn't buy it. She had been bubbly and smiling just a few minutes ago. And now she was on the verge of tears? It only took him the shortest second to connect the dots. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" He murmured softly, as if they were in a crowded room and he wanted to disguise their conversation. "How you two broke up?"

Lexie looked at him as if he'd just slapped her across the face. His heart lurched; he'd never seen her look so hurt before. He tried to ignore the part of him that was furious—why was she still so upset over that goddamn boyfriend? But he held his anger in check.

"No," Lexie bit back at once. "I don't want to talk about _him_."

Mark looked at her, confused, as she glared at him. He didn't know what he'd done wrong, or why she should be angry instead of him. Nonetheless, he pushed those thoughts out of his head. She'd broken up with her boyfriend, Mark and she were together now, and they had an entire day to spend together in bed. He wouldn't let some stupid argument over nothing ruin their day. He swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous as the elevator doors opened into his spacious apartment.

What if she didn't feel the same way anymore?

She'd told him he'd been good at… _making love, _but what if he couldn't make her feel the same way she'd felt that night? What if nothing else in their entire lives compared to that night?

What if she left again?

"I always forget," Lexie began, causing Mark to jump out of his thoughts and back to reality, "how much I love it here."

Mark couldn't help but grin to himself as he watched her step forward slowly to survey the apartment. She loved it here? He trailed behind her. That was certainly a good sign. Part of him wondered if she'd sensed his nervousness—for her statement seemed to be just the thing to make him feel like himself again. For the hundredth time, he wondered how he'd found such a perfect woman.

And why she had ever agreed to be with him, of all people.

Again, he shook his head. They were not here to rehash the past. They were here to be with one another—finally, without that third presence hovering over them.

"You love it here?" He asked, coming up behind her as she stopped a few paces in front of the windows. "You've never told me that."

Lexie smiled to herself as she felt his arms wrap around her middle. She waited for him to press himself against her, but the feeling didn't come. She reached up, placing her hands on his muscular arms. "Yeah, well, I never told you I loved you before today but that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking it for weeks on end."

Lexie could feel him grin when he pressed a kiss to her neck.

"Which do you love more, me or the apartment?" He murmured into her ear, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Lexie turned around with a smile, keeping his arms wrapped around her as she pivoted within his embrace. "I don't know if I want to answer that just now," she teased, placing her hands on his chest.

Mark smiled, bending forward to kiss her. He didn't know what he was expecting—probably for the kiss to be completely different—but that wasn't what it felt like at all. It felt so wonderfully familiar, like finding something you thought you'd lost many years ago and being delighted upon discovering it was still in perfect condition.

Lips and tongues and breath all connected became one in a kiss that nearly consumed the both of them. Mark couldn't every remember kissing anyone—even her—with as much fervor as he was now. It was like she was air and he would suffocate to death without her. He didn't want her. He _needed _her. All his earlier worries about making love and being perfect for her flew out of his head. All he wanted was her. All he needed was her. The rest would come, as long as he followed his instincts.

He could feel her moan softly into the kiss, and he wanted her to be louder. He could feel her breasts press and flatten against his chest, and he wanted to hold them in his hands, he wanted to feel her nipples go hard and know for a biological fact that she was attracted to him. He could feel her begin to surround him—her touch, her smell, her entire being—and he knew if things went any further, they'd end up doing it against the glass wall, or the floor, or over the back of the couch—or any number of other precarious positions. Though none of those thoughts fazed him, he realized she probably wanted their first time together as a couple to be in a bed. She would want things done right.

With some difficulty, he pulled his mouth apart from hers. Hers merely migrated to his cheek, his neck. "Come on," he smiled, chuckling as he attempted to untangle the two of them and head towards the bedroom. "Let's go."

"You come on," she returned. She didn't laugh. Her lips moved to his ear as her hands slipped down his chest towards his waistline. "_I want you, Mark_," she whispered into his ear, her words full of unadulterated lust. Mark nearly went fully erect just at the tone of her voice. He had never heard her sound like that—so raw and sexual. She had been bold before, yes, but that was in actions and assumptions she'd made. She rarely _talked _the way she acted.

Mark suddenly had a flashback to their last night together, and remembered how turned on she'd become when he'd used dirty words with her. With great effort on his part, Mark managed to pull himself away from her. They stood, a few inches apart, as he held her face in his hands. He looked into her confused—and slightly hurt—brown eyes as he spoke.

"I want to do this right," he told her, surprised that his voice was shaking a bit. "I—I don't want this to be like all the other times. I want to take you to bed and, and—and make love to you, Lexie."

She blinked at him, digesting this information. After a moment, the realization seemed to pass over her face. "You… You want to be my boyfriend."

Though the word made Mark cringe a bit inside, he nodded. He supposed, on some level, that _was_ what he wanted. But he didn't want her to use that word. And he wanted so much more than what twelve-year-olds in puppy love called each other. Nonetheless, he didn't say any of that. He reminded her quietly, "I want to make love to you, Lexie."

He watched as she drew a quick breath, and listened with worry and confusion as that breath hitched in her throat. Before he could ask, she was suddenly speaking, her voice hushed and watery. "You wanted to know why I was crying?" She whispered, taking Mark completely off-guard. "Before, in the elevator? You wanted to know?"

Mark tried not to let the grimace show on his face. Sure, he had wanted to discuss her boyfriend earlier, but now? Not now. Please not now. Not while he was talking about making love to her.

"Because of you." Even though Lexie's voice shook with emotion, he could hear her more clearly than ever before. Her words shocked him, froze him. _Because of me?_ "I, I was crying because I realized—_we _are together now, Mark. Just you and me. There's no one else." Though there were tears shining in her eyes, still, she smiled up at him. "I was crying because I realized—you and me—we're together now. Just like any other couple. Just like… boyfriend and girlfriend." She took in a ragged breath. "And that—that made me so happy, Mark." Her eyes looked so filled with tears he felt held in suspense, waiting for them to spill over. "It made me so happy, it did, but it also scared me." She swallowed, and he saw shame pass through her eyes. Her voice lowered to a humiliated whisper. "Because I thought, when I realized that, _Would he even want me then? _If we were boring boyfriend-girlfriend, just like everyone else on the planet, would he get bored? Would he leave me if there… if there was no thrill left?"

She shook her head, sad and angry all at once. She spoke again so soon after stopping that Mark didn't even have time to open his mouth and refute her worries. She had _nothing _to worry about. "Y—You said you loved me," Lexie choked out. "Even when I still had a boyfriend, you told me that. And then you came to my door to make sure I heard. And _then,_ you take me to your home and say you want to make love to me and… and this is how I repay you?" When she looked up, there were tears shining on her cheeks, streaking down her pale white complexion. "By doubting you? By trying to get into your pants and get you off so we'll forget how much this really matters?" She tried to breathe, and it sounded so much like a sob that it made Mark's heart twist in his chest. Her chin was shaking and her eyes were red and she was crying in earnest now: "I d—don't deserve you. Even after everything, even when we have a real chance to be together, I'm still such a _fucking bitch _to you." She looked like she planned to collapse in his arms, but held herself back at the last second, maybe thinking he wouldn't accept her.

Mark wrapped his arms around her nonetheless, or maybe in spite of, the fact that she seemed to think he didn't want her. "You're not," he whispered into her hair as he pressed his body close against hers for comfort. "You're not at all." Lexie laughed dryly against his chest, certain he was only saying that to make her feel better. Mark reached down, taking her face in his hands and lifting it so he could look into her eyes. Slowly, he wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "Lex," he whispered, "you are _nothing _like to me." He paused a moment, offering her a weak smile. "Trust me, if you were being a _fucking bitch, _I'd tell you. I'd say it right to your face."

Though he'd meant to make her laugh, Lexie didn't take it as a joke. "You promise?" She whispered, looking up at him with those large, deep, brown eyes. He had never considered her to be anything close to an innocent girl, but the way he looked at her now—her eyes red and magnified with tears, her cheeks stained, and her makeup smudged—she looked so little and fragile. All he wanted to do was take care of her, and he had never wanted to take care of anyone in his life.

He nodded. "I promise." He bent down, placing a soft kiss onto her lips. "I promise I'll tell you, but baby…" He kissed her again. "You're not." His eyes opened to find hers staring up at him. "Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay." Slowly, a little smile turned up her lips. She took a step back from him, reaching up to pry his hand from her face and thread her fingers with his. "Come on," she smiled. She tugged in his hand, turning towards the bedroom. "Now that I've cried at least ten times in the last two hours, shown what a baby I am, and we've had a stupid fight, I think we can be done with words for a while. What do you think?"

Mark smiled back, nodding. _Okay. _He mouthed the word.

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Though Lexie knew it couldn't even be later than noon yet, it felt like midnight. With the windows frosted and the bedroom lights out, the room was cast in a very faint, dim glow from sun on the outside while the inside remained dark, silent, and still. The only noises and movements in the entire apartment came from the large bed in the center of the room, and the two people embracing upon it.

Mark couldn't remember how or when either of them had gotten naked, but somewhere between the entryway and the bed, all of their clothes had disappeared. He looked at the woman beneath him, taking in her pale, soft skin, her large, brown eyes, and that mischievous smirk that was always infecting her smile, and he knew he'd never met anyone more perfect for him. He'd known it for a long time now, how well they fitted together, but he couldn't help but take pleasure in the fact that he was able to realize it all now with such perfect clarity. It was because he was also able to admit he loved her.

And, for some reason, she loved him back.

One of his hands tangled in her hair as the other one gripped at her side, pulling her as close as possible as their kisses grew deeper and more involved. He still didn't understand why she did—he wasn't sure if he ever would—but for now, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that they were together, happy and together. He wrapped his arms around her more securely, lining up every inch of their bodies.

Lexie moaned loudly, throwing her head back and breaking their kiss as he pushed himself deeper inside her. Her hands clutched his back and though she knew she was probably digging her nails in too hard, she couldn't stop herself. She couldn't let him go—not now, not ever. She needed to have him like this forever.

Her body bowed again as his withdrew from hers, and her mouth immediately sought his her hands fisted in his hair. He could feel her cry out into the kiss when he picked up his pace, thrusting within her faster now without losing any of his previous depth. She moaned aloud again when her lips had to leave his for air. She tried to say something—anything—but her brain wouldn't work. She couldn't think. All she could do was feel him and let him feel her. For months, she'd thought that they were only having sex, but now she wondered if they'd been making love with each other, unwittingly, for months now. She wondered if that was possible. Did she have to be aware of her love intellectually to be able to make love to him physically? Or did her body—as it so often did—act on its own terms and create its own rules? She already knew her body had told him time and time again how much it loved him. She smiled, leaning her forehead against his.

Her breath was coming in short gasps now—god, she was so close—and she needed air if she was going to do this right. She didn't want him to slow down or go shallower—just the opposite—but she did want to say this, once, before they fell off that cliff together and their worlds exploded with pleasure.

Mark opened his eyes when he felt her sweat-slicked forehead lean against his. He grinned reflexively at just seeing her beneath him, and dipped his cock a bit deeper inside her as he held her gaze. The action ripped a gasp and a whimper from her throat and he bent down to kiss her in reassurance. _I'll get you there, _the kiss seemed to say. _Don't worry._

But that wasn't what Lexie wanted to hear right now. It wasn't what she needed at all. She closed her eyes, struggling to take as deep a breath as she could even as his body stole all her air. He was making her feel so amazing that she never wanted him to stop; she wanted to have him make love to her from now to eternity if he could. But she had to say something. Slowly, her hands shaking as she came closer and closer to her orgasm, Lexie reached out to hold his face in her hands. Both her skin and his were slicked in sweat, and both their bodies were trembling, so holding the two in place for a moment was not an easy feat. Eventually, she managed it, and caught his eye just as he was pulling out. Lexie knew they were both only a stroke or two from exploding. She had to say it now.

"I love you." The words were supposed to come out of her mouth sounding confident and self-assured, but she couldn't help but notice that she sounded like she was sobbing. It made sense, she supposed. She could feel tears gathering in her eyes. But she wanted to be strong for him; she wanted to be confident. She wanted him to know that she was telling the truth. Her fingers stroked, cupped, and clutched at his cheeks as she continued: "I love you, Mark. Only you."

She didn't know if he meant to push into her so forcefully or not, but all Lexie knew the next second was that his cock had pushed so deeply inside her that it caused her to see stars in the dim room. Her mind went blank, her body limp, as he collapsed on top of her, panting, whispering in a hoarse voice, "I love you too, I love you too," over and over and over again.

When they both managed to gain control of their limbs, they wrapped their arms around one another and laid there until the bodies returned to earth and their minds filled with thoughts again. Their loving, exhausted, happy gaze never broke.

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Later, as they lay in bed after darkness had fallen, Lexie wondered softly, "Do you really want to know?"

They had been lying in bed ever since making love for that first/second time earlier that afternoon. Dusk had come early and with the lights still off, the room was now completely dark. Faint lights from the city could be seen through the frosted windows, but barely anything was discernible to the two except the look in the other's eyes as they lay side-by-side. And even that was hard to decipher at times.

It took Mark a few seconds to remember what she was alluding to. And then it hit him—her break-up with her boyfriend. Mark paused, wondering after what he wanted. Did he really _want _to know? Or was he just torturing himself—and her? Unable to decide, he finally replied, "Only if you want to tell me."

Lexie barely seemed to hear his answer. "If I tell you," she whispered, staring into his eyes in the darkness, "will you promise me right now that you won't go running in the opposite direction?" Her hand that had been caressing his shoulder for the past hour stilled.

"I love you, Lexie." He said the words like it answered her question, turning his head to kiss her hand as he did so. She didn't take is as a yes or no reply.

She sighed softly. "Yeah, well, he did too." She shut her eyes, rubbing them. When she spoke next, she seemed to have made up her mind. "I'm a terrible person," she began quietly, "though I suppose you already knew that."

"You aren't terrible," he interrupted. "Not to me."

"To him, then," she amended, and Mark didn't try to correct her this time. She took a deep breath before beginning.

.

_Lexie shut her eyes. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't believe this was happening._

_"I can't marry you," she whispered, her voice shaking as she forced herself to open her eyes and face him. "I'm… so sorry."_

_ "You… What?" Her boyfriend stared at her, bewildered for a moment before he seemed to grasp—albeit unwillingly—what she was saying. Obviously, he hadn't been expecting anything but an affirmative answer, as any prospective fiancé would expect. He cleared his throat, eyeing her as if giving her another chance to rephrase what she was going to say. It took all of Lexie's willpower not to renege. Jackson seemed to accept that, for he wondered a few seconds later, "Can I… Can I ask why not?"_

_ She squeezed her eyes tight. She didn't know why she said what she did, but soon she was whispering, "I think it would be better if we left it like this." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew the end for them would be long and painful; nothing was ever quick and easy for her these days. Neither was it quick and easy for him, apparently._

_ She felt his entire body go still as a stone next to her. She swallowed, hoping she could quell her fear and sorrow for the time being. What the hell was she doing? Throwing away the longest relationship she'd ever had because she liked fucking another man better than fucking her always-loving boyfriend? What kind of basis for a radical life decision—for her _future_—was that? Jackson was someone she loved, someone she'd been able to see a real future with… Mark was just a good-looking man with and even better cock, anyone could see that. But she knew—now more than ever—that he was something more._

_ Everything clicked for Jackson Avery all at once: _She's been cheating on me._ He prided himself on not being an overly emotional man—but in that moment, when that thought hit him, he honestly felt like crying. He felt his eyes start to sting, and for a moment, he thought about giving in to that whim. _Why not? _He wondered bitterly. _It's not like I'll ever see her again._ That thought hurt almost as much as the first, and soon he found himself staring into her eyes, trying to memorize what she looked like. He knew that he'd never see her again, never, and he wanted to remember what she looked like. Their professional lives didn't intersect, and out of the few friends the two had, no irreplaceable ones were shared. After she left, he'd have nothing to link the two of them together, nothing to remember her by… except scarring memories and a wasted ring. The diamond-encrusted piece of jewelry, still resting in his hand, now felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. It had felt heavy before, due to his nerves, but now it felt like it had a chokehold on him. It felt like an anvil pressing on his heart, bruising his chest and trapping his breath. He couldn't escape._

_ "Do I know him?" Jackson wondered quietly, struggling not to let his voice shake._

_ Lexie shook her head immediately. Not because she wanted to throw him off—far from it—but because she knew, honestly, that Jackson didn't know Mark. She was sure if she told him Mark's full name, Jackson wouldn't even recognize it._

_ "How long has it been going on?"_

_ "A few months." _

_ "And you've been sleeping with him."_

_ Lexie took a deep breath. Though she knew from the way he spoke it was more a statement than a question, she couldn't _not_ reply. Her boyfriend had just asked her to spend the rest of her life with him and she couldn't leave him without an answer… even if it wasn't the one he wanted to hear. "Yes," she whispered. "I've slept with him."_

_ "How many times?"_

_ "I… I'd rather not… say."_

_ He almost smiled. "I guess schoolteachers do need to be fucked every once in a while. Or a bit more frequently than every once in a while," he added dryly._

_ "Jackson—"_

_ "I'll have the driver take you home," he murmured, sliding away from her. "I'll move my things out while you're at work."_

_ "Jackson," she tried again, shocked now. How could he leave _her _the apartment, after all she'd done? "No, I don't need—"_

_"Was it just about sex?" He interrupted, suddenly turning back to look at her now with an intense need to understand burning in his green eyes. "Was it my fault that you went looking, because I was so focused on work that I…" He stared at her, searching for the right word. "…neglected you?"_

_ Lexie suddenly wanted to hug him in that moment. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, and comfort him like she had in earlier days. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and kiss her and make love to her in the back of a limousine as it drove in lazy circles around New York City. She wanted to marry him._

_ But then the moment passed._

_ She took a deep breath. "It wasn't all your fault," she replied. "If I'd tried harder—"_

_ "Don't try to be nice to me, Lex," he interrupted tiredly. He reached up a hand to rub the side of his head. "Not now. Not about this. Just… Just be honest with me, okay?" He paused, looking her in the eyes until she nodded. He asked very slowly, very deliberately, "Was it my fault?"_

_ "Yes." The word escaped Lexie's mouth before she could stop herself. She bit her lip a second later, quickly adding, "But it was my fault, too. Both of us ruined this, not just you. You aren't… _completely_ to blame, Jackson."_

_ He stared at her for a moment before turning his head away and looking out the window. They passed over three blocks before he spoke. "Thank you for telling me honestly," he whispered finally._

_ Lexie could barely nod. Every movement felt robotic and stiff already. And they yelling hadn't even started yet._

_ "I'll have the driver drop you off at the apartment first," he told her quietly. He paused. "I'd have him take you to his place, but I—"_

_ Lexie shook her head, deeming the measure unnecessary. "I don't want to see him," she whispered. She held back the truth: that it was _Mark _who didn't want to see _her. _She couldn't admit that to him, not now. Then it would look like this was all for nothing… and it _was _all for nothing, she realized sadly, struggling to hold back tears._

_ Jackson studied her for a moment. He could see tears in her eyes. He wondered if he was the man she was crying over, or if it was… that other guy. "Do you love him?" Jackson asked quietly, dreading the answer. He didn't know why he was torturing himself; he supposed he didn't have control over his mouth anymore. "The guy you've been cheating with, is it because you're in love him?" Though he didn't say the words, they both heard the real question behind his question._

_ Lexie shook her head. The answer she knew Jackson was hoping for stuck in her throat. No, I love _you_. But she just couldn't say it. "No," she replied at once, her voice just as quiet as his. They both sounded somber, like funeral attendees. She tried not to think about what she'd just killed. "I don't… don't love him." She didn't know why her mouth stuttered over the words as they struggled to leave her lips; they were the truth, weren't they?_

_ "That's a relief."_

_ She couldn't help but laugh weakly, wiping at her eyes. "Is it?" She wondered, smiling like a mad person. "Is it really better that I'm not in love with him? But still, even so, I cheated on you?"_

_ Jackson's expression sobered and fell. "I guess not," he muttered, looking away again._

_ Lexie felt her eyes fill with tears again. She hadn't meant to do that to him. She didn't even know why she'd said that. Every word out of her mouth seemed to make all of this so much worse. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I…" She swallowed roughly, but it did no good. "I'm so sorry, Jackson. I am. I swear, I—"_

_ He shook his head, and her voice died in her raw throat. "I don't care," he interrupted quietly. "I don't give a shit if you're sorry or not." He turned his head, finally looking at her. "You cheated on me. After three years, still, you decided to—" His voice broke off, and he stared at her intensely, seemingly trying to puzzle something out, before asking abruptly, "That was where you were on our anniversary, wasn't it?" He watched her quick intake of breath—she'd realized she was caught—and he felt his entire body fall away from him. He felt like nothing. Less than nothing. He realized with a jolt that that's probably how she'd been perceiving him since this all started: as nothing._

_ Well, at least they were on the same page now._

_ "You…" He licked his lips. He could see it all in his head: her wrapped up with some nameless, faceless little shit… It took him a moment to gather himself enough for coherent speech. "You were fucking _him_ while _I_ waited up for you at home? Waited with a _ring_, waited—"_

_ "How many nights have _I_ spent waiting up for _you_ at home?" Lexie cut in sharply before she realized she should've held her tongue. "I'm sorry," she whispered a half-second later. She had no right to compare the two situations, she knew that. _She _was the guilty party here, and she had to respect that he was taking the high road while she was stuck on the path that led—no doubt—to hell. "Jesus, I'm so sorry, I—"_

_ "You know, I thought you looked strange when you came home that night. Exhausted and mussed up and… God, you were _fucking_ him! You—" He broke off, biting the inside of his cheek roughly before he could say another word._

_Lexie held her breath. This was what she'd been waiting for, what she'd been dreading. This was when he'd call her a slut. This was when he'd shout and scream and think of any and all insults that he could get off his tongue. He'd call her a skank and a bitch and a goddamn whore and he'd be right in doing so. He'd yell at her to get out and stay away from him forever._

_But, because he was who he was, he didn't say a word. As they sat across from each other in silence, Lexie couldn't help but wish that he'd yell at her. She hated how he was being nice to her. She hated how clear it was that he still loved her—even now. Even after what she'd done to him, even after she'd ruined his life. It just made her feel even more horrible about her actions, and about how he'd found out at exactly the wrong moment._

_Even so, part of her was happy—or at least grateful—that they were over. He didn't deserve to be with someone as terrible as her, and she didn't deserve someone as good, as loving as him. It didn't matter if he was or wasn't there when she wanted him—he loved her, and that was all that mattered. That was all that _should've_ mattered._

_Lexie felt the limo slow to a stop as they hit some traffic. Silently, she looked over at him. He was staring at his hands, at the ring that still rested there. Lexie swallowed roughly, wishing she had something to say that could, in some way, make things better. But there was nothing to say. There was nothing to do._

_She made her way over to the door, resting her hand on the handle. "I can walk back," she whispered, pushing the door open. She stepped out without trouble, but just as she was going to shut the door, his voice cut through the honks and shouts of New York City traffic._

_"Lexie?"_

_ "Congratulations," she replied quickly. "On the job. I'm proud of you, really. I always knew you had it in you. I…" She trailed off, not knowing what else to say. Eventually, she just whispered, "I'm so sorry about tonight," and then shut the door._

.

"I just left," Lexie whispered, her voice slightly muffled against the pillow. "Whatever he was going to say to me, I never hear it. I never let him get it out. I didn't even give him that much."

Mark took a breath, wondering what to say. "It was probably nothing, Lex," he soothed her.

She shook her head. "You don't know that."

Mark sighed, moving closer to her beneath the covers. "Okay," he admitted, "I don't. But does it matter? I don't mean to be harsh," he added, because she'd made a horrified face, "but in all honestly… could anything he might have said to you at that point changed things?"

Lexie shook her head. "It's not about changing things," she explained. "It's about hearing him out. Giving him a chance to get it all off of his chest like he gave me. Giving him closure."

Mark digested this, though he didn't have much to say. After a few minutes, he suggested, "Well, you could call him and ask."

Lexie looked at him as if he was insane.

Mark couldn't help but smirk a bit at that, replying, "It was just a suggestion," as he leaned forward to kiss her. She met him halfway, and for a couple more hours, there wasn't any more talking.

.

.

"You told him you didn't love me." Mark spoke quietly, but his eyes were on her and she knew he was expecting an answer.

Lexie stared at him with sad, somber eyes. She knew they'd come back to this at some point. She'd seen the look in his eyes when she'd gotten to that part of the story. She sighed softly, tilting her head back against his shoulder so she could meet his eyes as she lay across his body. "What was I supposed to say, Mark?"

He didn't reply, nor did she expect him to.

"He and I had that conversation before I realized just how much you meant to me," Lexie told him quietly, shifting so that she was laying on top of him; her breasts against his pecs. "It took time," Lexie continued, "time _alone_, for me to realize just how much I missed you." Holding his gaze, she bent down to kiss his chest, just above his heart, "How much I loved you."

Mark stared at her for a long while before reaching down and cupping her cheek with one of his hands. She pressed her face into his palm with a warm smile. "Loved?" He repeated. "Or love?"

The question didn't faze Lexie for even a second. "I love_d _you then," she replied, "and I _love_ you now."

"You do?" He pressed.

Lexie nodded. She turned her head to kiss the inside of the hand that was cupping her cheek. "Yes." She reached over, directing that hand to the back of her neck as she scooted her body over his. She took his other hand, and placed it on her lower back. It quickly drifted to her ass, and she smiled when he squeezed it. "What do you think?" She wondered with that saucy little grin. "Do you have one more round left in you?"

Mark smirked, shaking his head as he leaned up to kiss her. "I could go all night," he corrected, one hand cupping her neck and one cupping her ass as his entire body rose to meet hers.

.

.

.

Despite the physically draining and emotionally taxing night, Mark woke up at his usual time the next morning, seven AM. He wasn't surprised to find Lexie lying next to him, but the sight of her lying asleep in his bed so early in the morning did make him happier than anything else had in years.

Carefully, he bent down, pressing a soft kiss to her bare backside, before pulling back the covers and getting out of bed. She didn't stir once, not when he left the bed, nor when he searched around for a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt to wear. Again and again as he traveled through the room, his eyes were drawn to her. He simply couldn't stop looking at her. Though he hadn't been shocked to wake up beside her this morning, he realized now that it would certainly take some getting used to: seeing her in his apartment everyday, going to bed with her every night, and waking up to her body curled next to his in bed every morning…

Mark shook his head when he felt an enormous grin spreading over his face. Just thinking that, he realized that he wasn't looking forward to anything else. Spending every moment with her—being with her—was something that he thought he'd never have. He had longed for it for weeks, months, even, but the longing had always seemed futile.

He never thought she'd be his, but now that she was, it seemed like a whole new horizon had opened up. For him, for her, for the two of them together. He hadn't felt so hopeful in all his life, and he wondered again what exactly he'd been doing before he'd met Lexie Grey.

.

.

When Lexie woke up, she was alone. In quick succession, she began rapidly aware of a multitude of things: she was naked, she was in Mark's bed, and Mark was nowhere to be seen. She sat up at once, letting the sheet fall from her chest to her waist, and looked around. His side of the bed was obviously slept in, but he wasn't there. She looked around the room, but it was still messy from their reunion last night, and besides, she didn't spot him. She was just about to get up and call out to him when she heard him swear from across the penthouse, an oath that was accompanied by what sounded like the clatter of pans.

Slowly, Lexie rose to her feet, wondering what he was doing. She pulled on a pair of panties and one of his t-shirts that had been lying around before heading out of the bedroom. She walked through the hallway, her head tilted to the side as she listened for more noises. She could hear scraping sounds now, and running water…

"Hey," she called out, stepping into the kitchen. Mark was bent over the sink, scrubbing at something that appeared to still be smoking, despite being doused in what looked like a gallon of cold water. "Trouble in the kitchen?" She smiled, walking around the island. "And here I thought you were skilled in the culinary arts."

He managed to throw a quick smile in her direction before returning to scrubbing the pan with a grimace. "I wasn't paying attention. Burned the eggs."

Lexie leaned over, peering into the sink. Globs of some sort of yellow-black substance (which Lexie took to be the ruined eggs) were floating around in the dishwater before swirling down the drain. She looked back up to him, surprised. Her eye caught the sight of toast on plates and glasses of orange juice. "You were making me breakfast?" She wondered, taken aback. No one had made her breakfast in years. And the most she ever made for herself was a bowl of cereal.

"Yeah, well, I tried to," he muttered under his breath, glaring at the pan as he scrubbed at it furiously. He glanced over to her after a moment, seemingly remembering that she was standing there. "Sorry," he continued. "There are more eggs in the fridge. "It'll just be a minute."

Lexie grinned, unable to hold back a laugh. "Mark," she smiled, stepping behind him and reaching out to hug the sides of his waist, "you don't need to make me breakfast." She dug her chin affectionately into his shoulder. "You've got nothing to prove here, okay? You don't need to impress me."

He frowned slightly, his eyes meeting hers guiltily. "Don't I, though?" He wondered, his voice low and more than a little curious.

"I'm not going anywhere," she told him pointedly. She stepped closer, her hands drifting from his sides, up his chest, and stopping to clutch his shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered again, pressing her body against his.

Mark's eyes closed as he breathed in her blessedly familiar scent. Instinctively, his hands reached up to cup her arms and pull her as close as possible. "You're not going anywhere," he repeated in a murmur. He turned, pulling her around to face him. "You sure about that?" He wondered, brushing her unruly hair away from her face and behind an ear. He couldn't help but smile at the realization that he was looking at her right now, her hair all mussed, as a result of their long and involved lovemaking last night. Cupping her back with one hand, he basked in the morning-after glow, soaking in the easy bliss of something he'd spent his entire adult life attempting to avoid.

"I'm sure," she replied, smiling back at him. Her hands rested on his biceps, a light grip but enough to let him know she was there. She squeezed those muscles now to get his attention. "Are you okay with this?" She whispered, and he saw that uncertainty shine in her usually confident eyes.

Instead of answering, he bent down to kiss her. As her hands rose to grip his shoulders and neck, and his wrapped securely around her back, Mark figured that kiss was an answer in and of itself. Her returning kiss, on the other hand… Well, he wasn't sure what that meant yet. She had him backed up against the nearest counter before he could manage to tear their lips apart.

"You're sure?" He asked hurriedly. His hands rose from her waist to cup her cheeks so he could look into her eyes. "You're sure—about us, about me? You don't have any… _regrets_ about—about last night?"

Lexie's face tensed at the fear she saw in his eyes, and she shook her head at once. "No regrets," she promised steadfastly, her voice firm and self-assured. She had known the second she'd woken up that there were no regrets. Hell, she knew even before she'd gone to sleep that there'd be no regrets. And on some level—because she kept coming back to him all those months—she had never had any regrets in the first place. Last night had been no different in that department, regardless of how it had elevated their relationship in other areas.

She framed his face in two of her hands, pulling him down so she could look him directly in the eyes. "Mark," she began seriously, "I have never had regrets about you. Not the first time, not the last time… Never have I been more sure that I need a person in my life the way I've always known I've needed you."

A smile broke out across his face immediately, and it made him look so happy, Lexie couldn't help but beam back. After a moment, he bent forward, as if to whisper a secret in her ear. His hands drifted down to her ass and squeezed. "_Needed _me, hm?" He wondered in a low, purposefully seductive voice. Lexie could feel her skin heat up. He grinned at her, yanking her thin body against his. "I always knew this was just about sex."

Lexie burst out laughing, even as he attempted to plant a big kiss on her. She threw her head back, letting it all out. "Yes," she assured him as the giggles died away, "Yes, this has always been about sex." Her eyes twinkled. "That's all last night was—sex. Just fucking. Pure and simple."

He grinned, leaning forward to kiss her. "I liked last night," he whispered against her lips. He could feel her returning smile.

"Me too," she whispered after their lips parted. "Well," she added, licking her lips, "that's actually a lie." She failed to suppress a smile as she continued, "I didn't just like it." Her eyes flickered to his. "I loved it."

He grinned happily, lifting a hand to push her hair behind her ear from where it had fallen during their kissing. "Oh, yeah?" He murmured, cupping her cheek and tilting her chin up. He could feel her press her face against his hand and it made him smile.

Lexie nodded, biting her lip to hide what she knew would be an enormously large smile as she looked up at him. Her hands hugged his hips. "Yeah," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him as her hands slipped beneath his t-shirt.

Mark smirked, allowing her hands to roam over his chest for a moment before he ducked down and hoisted her up into his arms. She yelped in surprise, but quickly wrapped her arms and legs around him. "Back to bed already?" She grinned, tightening the hold of her legs around his waist.

Mark laughed shortly. "You think we can make it _all_ the way back to the _bedroom_?" He wondered, walking a few steps and then pressing her back against the fridge. She moaned in pleasure at the shock of the cold metal against her back combining with the heat of him standing in front of her.

"No," she grinned, wrapping her hands around his shoulders. "And I think here's fine."

He smirked back, muttering, "Me too," before covering her mouth with his. Her legs wrapped more tightly around him as her hands fisted into the hairs on the back of his neck. Mark made short work of his boxers and her panties, and soon they were christening the kitchen as frantically as they'd slowly made use of his bedroom last night.

Their uneaten and half-cooked breakfasts were left to grow cold on the island, forgotten just like the ruined eggs that were still smoldering in the sink.

_._

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~the end~

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_._

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_Author's Note__: Thank you all so much for supporting this story. I know it wasn't Mark-and-Lexie conventional, nor was it conventional in any other way, really. But I'm so grateful to all of you who have read, reviewed, and supported this story along its journey. It means so much to me. Thank you, again and again. I am so grateful for all of that have seen this story from beginning to end._

**_FFN readers: There will be an epilogue but I will most likely not be posting it on here. If you would like to read it, please friend me on LiveJournal. The URL is on my profile. Thank you._**


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